The Fourth Horsemen
by theps118confessional
Summary: They didn't begin until the world ended. A Walking Dead!AU
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

MAY 29TH 2018

THE OUTSKIRTS OF KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE

The smell was alarmingly familiar. His nose didn't twitch up at it anymore. The body had been sitting out for five…maybe six days. A sizable half of the skull was entirely smashed in, leaving the face mangled…would be unrecognizable if it weren't for the body size of their friend. He questioned if he had ever met anyone in his life shaped quite like them. He grabbed his lifeless wrists, turning them over.

He thought he should have been crying…or emotional. Anything to feel in touch with his humanity. No one made a sound. Not the girl crouched next to him, the one he loved more than he felt anything these days. No one behind him either, the small group of beaten down survivors that they had left. He didn't like that no one was pulled to an emotion. He felt he should almost force it, out of obligation. But instead, he dutifully checked for what he knew wasn't there: a bite mark. A motive for an otherwise cruel, vindictive murder.

"We're going to have to move on." She said cooly, with finality. He glanced at her as she pushed up from her spot kneeling on the earth, brushing the dirt off her knees. That was a futile move at any rate, they were filthy, sporting a tear on her hip, you could see checkered boxers underneath them. She looked north, towards where the highway would be, also- away from her friends.

"Move on?" He questioned softly. She didn't respond. She shook out her hair. It was long, tangled, and locking up in a way hair her texture shouldn't be. She retied it on the top of her head. She wouldn't look at him.

"I think we should leave now. I don't know how much longer the light will be on our side." She shuffled her sleeve down her wrist.

"Are you…" he spluttered, disbelief splattering his tone, "have you lost your _fucking_ mind?" He stood up, waiting for her, begging her to turn around with his voice. She stayed stagnant. "We just lost a friend," he pleaded, :we _all_ just lost a friend, one we've had for _years_ , and all you can think about is moving on?!" He wanted her to yell. He wanted her to scream at him, scream that she was hurting too, that they all felt the loss.

She didn't.

And that hurt him more than yelling ever would.

She looked over her shoulder at him, and then looked up at the sky, checking where the sun was sitting in it.

He felt defeat like he hadn't felt before.

"Do you even know who you are anymore?" He asked her softly, and the tone gave away what he really said. What he really told her was that 'you are not the girl I fell in love with.'

"I know I'm alive." She said plainly. She knelt down to hike up a sock in her boot. He felt the gazes of his friend's burning into his back. Their pain, their concern…their exhaustion.

It had been two years since it all started.

And he hadn't given up yet.

"That's not who you are." He insisted, stepping forward.

He hadn't given up on her yet.

"That _is_ who I am." she turned around, finally. She stared at him with such fierce intensity- like she thought he was stupid. Or naive. He couldn't tell you exactly what look he wanted to see in her eye- he never wanted to see her hurt, or upset. But to see such an intense look of jaded numbness, just twisted the hand that was clutched on his heart. She was only 24.

"That's all _any_ of us are." Her gaze moved past him, to the people behind them. To their friends, to their _family_. "I'm not a _girl_ , or a _millennial_ ," she spat mockingly, "or a friend." Her words settled between them, settling into the dirt of the earth, into the grime under their fingernails, into their hearts. "I'm _alive_. And I'm trying to stay that way." She always, nowadays, ended her sentences as if they ended the discussion. As if that were just it, and she always had the final say.

She didn't.

"He wasn't killed by a walker," A new, gruffer, voice pitched in, stepping forward. "We can all see that as clear as day." He gestured down to the corpse of his friend, "And I would think, if you were really concerned about staying alive, you would wanna know which of us-" he raised his voice, circling around the group of people, "did it, and why. Because I don't know about y'all- but I ain't seen anyone else in days." His eyes, a sore, red combination of angry and tired, met hers, "so I ain't goin' nowhere, until someone starts _talking_."

"I'm sorry…" She spoke softly, looking up, "I thought it was fairly obvious who killed him." Her eyes met with another pair, someone who stood towards the back, quiet throughout the entire debacle. Their eyes narrowed at her, and she took a moment, only a second, to pray to whatever vengeful, hateful God they had left, that she wasn't going to be next.

He turned, and followed his love's gaze to the hatred that it was met with.

He hadn't lost hope yet, through the Famine, the Pestilence, the Death, they- all of them, they weren't done yet.

It settled over him as he watched them stare at each other, feeling the energies of the people he was standing with, the people he loved, already divide, already picking sides, already formulating plans. He couldn't help but see the battle line that was drawn between them in his mind, the war cry that was screaming in his head, despite the stark silence littering the air.

The Fourth Horseman.

It was finally here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Book One: The Tempest**

 **Chapter One:**

 _The solemn temples, the great globe itself,_

 _Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve_

 _And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,_

 _Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff_

 _As dreams are made on, and our little life_

 _Is rounded with a sleep._

* * *

MARCH 9TH 2016

NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT

Phoebe's mind and it's general capabilities went beyond intelligence. Anyone with her work ethic, her tenacity, could succeed. And lots of people did, as evidenced by the peers she sat with in the library at Yale that October afternoon.

What made Phoebe stand out from them, not in looks, mind you, she blended right in, with her large green sweater and thick black glasses, was intuition.

Call it a sixth sense, or a heightened sense of awareness, but when someone power-walked into the room, to stop at the stall next to hers, whispering fiercely that her neighbor 'had to see this,' Phoebe had never felt a stronger instinct of flight. She felt the need to get up and run. It was completely absurd, as it likely was a cat video or some other meme. She leaned back in her chair, trying to watch without detection. The look on their faces were horrified as they watched a news segment, sharing ear buds.

She paused the lecture she was re-listening to, and pulled her headphones from the jack, clicking it into her phone instead. She opened the news app on her phone, heading straight for the medical section, but what she was looking for was in the front page.

A bizarre chemical reaction in an elderly woman after what was assumed to be death, but she reanimated within moments, acting…beastly. There's great speculation over whether the mix of narcotics the woman was previously on was having unseen hallucinogenic side effects.

The state of the woman was unknown.

She took a quick screenshot, intending to text it to her roommate, Angie, when she paused. She had another… hunch. She went to twitter and clicked on the moments feed, seeing a different top story. A riot breaking out in the Bronx, when after a shooting, the victim became so violent it looked like he…bit into the leg of a person, and did not stop until shot three more times.

Phoebe stopped, and looked up. Her heart was racing, and she didn't even know when that started. She glanced down at her phone, and, by association, her hands which now had beads of sweat forming on them. She didn't know when that started either.

Her laptop screen had been inactive, and it had gone black. She looked at herself in the reflection, then pushed her glasses on top of her head, scratching at her eyes, which had gone dry after hours of studying. She remembered she had at least a good 6 hours worth of work left, if not 8, and the sun would be setting in just a few hours. She shook her hair off her neck, and tried to calm her paranoia, dismissing it as stress from the long day of studying. She rolled her shoulders back, rolled her neck around, and made the distinct decision to Calm the Fuck Down.

When she went to wipe her now clammy hands off on of her jeans, she almost jumped at the clunky engagement ring on her left hand. She looked down at it, and then looked back at her reflection in her laptop one more time.

And promptly slammed it shut.

She picked up her books, meticulously marking what pages she ended on in her agenda, and tucked them into her bag. She picked up her backpack, and was perhaps walking out of the library faster than she maybe normally would have.

She was fiddling with the strap of her backpack, looking at it with frustration. She faced front to realize that one of her professors from last semester, Dr. Brunswick, was in front of her. Just in time, of course, to smack right into her, and send papers flying around them.

She stumbled back a few steps, then landed with a crack on her butt. She opened her eyes to a blurry world, and swore when she realized that meant her glasses had flown off.

"Sorry, dear-" He apologized swiftly, grabbing his papers haphazardly, as if he didn't particularly care about them. "Wasn't watching where I was going."

"Me either, not your fault-" She said hurriedly.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" He was attempting to joke lightly, but he had been walking at a pace faster than she was. She wouldn't have bounced back so hard if he hadn't been.

His papers were scattered around her knees, but she wasn't so much focused on that. Her glasses had been knocked off her face, and she needed those. Immediately.

"Uh," she fumbled around, squinting aggressively. "I'm…uh, not sure" Phoebe wasn't entirely sure there was dishonest bone in her body. Her subconscious screamed at her to _lie_ , just, **_lie_**! She didn't need to be bearing her soul about freak accidents that had nothing to do with her to an _acquaintance_.

"What are you looking for?" He asked, papers momentarily forgotten, and Phoebe felt his eyes burning a hole in her cheek. His tone was odd, and Phoebe got the feeling he was asking her a deeper question than what sat on the surface. She could almost imagine the look on his face, aged and tired, but still hungry for knowledge. His hair shone with flecks of gray, seeming more each day. She knew that look on his face, because he used to have it like…every day in class. She didn't bother to look up, pointing an aggressive finger at her eyes, where glasses should have been, and weren't.

"Oh!" He exclaimed. She heard his voice travel as he scrounged around for them. "Here you go-" He handed them to her. She shoved them on her face, pushing up from the floor with her hands, collecting papers for him as she did so.

She looked down, he put a hand on the ground, and one on his knee. He rose a lot slower than she did. She was suddenly grateful for a youthful body.

She handed him his papers with a bashful smile. "Have a good day, Professor," She told him, then walked briskly past his shoulder. She was no less than 20 feet away before he responded.

"Phoebe," he called after her. "Where are you going?"

She took a breath, and stopped. She turned her head, not her body, to look at him. She looked at him, really tried to take in his face: the expression, the slightly misty eyed and open mouth. His cheeks were pale, his hands were clenched unnaturally.

"I think," she paused, and watched him one more time. He leaned forward ever so slightly, and his expression turned somewhat eager.

This was a man who was distinguished. He was a scholar. She had enjoyed every moment of his class, his thoughts mingled in with fact for a perfect balance of education and engagement.

And she somehow knew exactly what he wanted her to say.

So she said it.

"I think I'm going to try and catch a train home." She said finally. She waited then, for the first time in her life, to be wrong. She waited for him to say something about her education, her grades slipping. She waited for him to try and stop her.

He nodded. "Good," He mumbled it so quietly she almost missed it, nodding at the floor, "get out of the city."

She stared at him, his brown eyes sunken into his own skin. She nodded slowly. She had no response to him, none at all, so she turned and moved to keep walking.

"Phoebe?" She stopped again, but that time, turned around a lot quicker.

"If you want a ride…" He sighed, eyes firmly on the floor, and then he shook his head. "I can get you to New York." He said earnestly, she heard the edges of his accent slip into the way he said his home state. .

She had no idea what to make of it, what to make of him, what to make of _anything_.

Phoebe didn't want to make anything of anything.

She just wanted her fiancee.

And, so, she quietly formed a statement like a question, "I'll meet you back here in an hour?"

And Brunswick nodded.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Thad was vaguely aware that someone was hitting him with a pillow, and also fully aware that he didn't give half a fuck.

He groaned, letting it drop into something breathy at the end, turning his face out. "Yes _Daddy_ ," he sighed, feigning arousement at getting hit, "hit me _again_."

"Ew." He heard the pillow hit the floor, and he smirked, "you're fucking gross, Gam." He knew the voice, trusty old Becca, one of his best friends for his duration of time at Philadelphia University. He could picture the wrinkle in her perfect nose, her hair would be up in an attempt to be in a messy bun, but she actually worked very hard at it. She was probably wearing her ugly green flannel, hiding a slender physique for no goddamn reason other than to look cool. Pretentious, but kind of cool.

"Get up, though, I mean it."

He let one eye open, glancing up at her. "What if I'm already up?" He teased, winking at the end of her sentence.

"What the fuck is wrong with you."

"Years of undiagnosed schizophrenia and overlooked psychopathic tendencies."

"Yeah, okay, Banksy, but get the hell up. You owe me chicken fingers."

"Says who," he shut his eyes again, rolling into the pillow one more time.

"You."

"When."

"Literally an hour and a half ago."

"Heresay," He mumbled into the pillow, resigning to go back to sleep.

"Gam. You promised. You literally wrote it on your arm," he felt his arm being picked up by the insufferable girl, she read aloud to him: "Thad owes Bec chicken fingers. Won't flake on it this time, just a nap first. Love, me." She shook the aforementioned arm. "Let's gooo-" She whined, in the most good-natured way an individual could manage to whine.

"I hate you." He mumbled into his pillow.

* * *

Rhonda did not find internet videos nearly as entertaining nor as quotable as many of her peers did. She rolled her eyes as she passed by the lawn of her building, the nice suites the seniors got to themselves, at all the people crowded around a few smart phones, watching something. She would have thought that ivy league students at an institution like Penn would have been less enthralled by internet hoaxes, but the human race never did fail to disappoint her.

When sat down on her bed in her dorm, exhaustion hit her harder than she expected it to. She had elaborate plans to get shit done that afternoon, but none of it sounded appealing. She took the time to shoot a text to her boyfriend, Ethan, of three years, offering to grab dinner together. She scratched a hand on her scalp, yawning audibly, and decided a nap certainly wouldn't kill her. She plugged in her phone, stripped off her shirt, and sat down, ready to pass out for a few hours. She looked up at her phone, and thought to set an alarm for 8, not that she'd sleep that long, but just in case she was more tired than she thought.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA

"Lila?" She heard his voice from around the corner, she had left her suite door open.

"In my room," she called back, twisting her hair band around the end of her braid. She had just done her hair into two thick dutch braids. She looked down, and momentarily wished that she had taken the time to change before her boyfriend got there.

His face appeared in her door frame, and even though they had been dating over a year, her heart still fluttered a tiny bit. He wasn't most girls type- large, both in height and general width, with a thick beard and a beanie shoved over hair that was getting slightly too long, but he was her type and that suited them just fine. He was kind and gentle and he loved her and nothing would ever matter more to her.

"What's up?" She cocked her head to the side, "you look…disturbed."

Drew sat next to her, phone already in his hand. "Have you seen this? I don't want to make you watch it, because it's weird. But this guy goes…like, crazy, and he like, bites into someone's leg."

"Like, is it funny?" Lila asked, wiggling over to make room for him on her bed, noticing a stain on her gray sweatpants, right by the M for Muhlenburg, which was written down the side.

"Not at all. It's actually pretty fucked up."

"Well," she pushed his phone down. "Do you wanna stay in tonight then? We don't have to go hang out with Gary and Steph." She had, like Drew told her, no interest in all in watching the video. But it had obviously shaken him.

"Yeah, I mean-" he took a breath, and wiped a hand off on his jeans. She looked down and noticed his hand was sweating.

"We'll just eat some DiGornos and watch some Netflix, okay?" She grabbed his wrist, mostly grabbing for his attention.

"Yea-" he said again, patting her knee, "yea! That's fine." He feigned being okay. She still didn't want to watch the video, but her heart panged with nerves. She had never seen him so distraught by…anything. He stood up, offering her a hand, which she grabbed, but sat as she held it.

"Hey-" she stopped him, he turned back to look at her. "It's just a video, okay?"

He tugged her towards him, and kissed her head. "Of course," she heard him breath. "Just some internet fad."

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

"You did… _what_?" Gerald stopped walking down the hall. "You're with… _who_?" He was actually already late for meeting up with his friends, but the absurdity coming from his phone was enough to make any man pause.

"I'm gathering things at a supermarket and then I'm going to go-"

"You're going to…what?"

"Gerald."

"Phoebe." Gerald was not a man who argued a side he thought was a sinking ship. He wasn't like a few of his friends, who fought tooth and nail against their girls just to be right. But Phoebe fleeing New Haven over a few dumb articles, and one video, was absolutely outrageous and he had to stop her. All it was going to get her was at a truck stop in New York in two hours, feeling like an idiot with way too many cans of beans, and a shitton of homework she didn't do.

"Baby, you're just-"

"Gerald, I swear to god if you call me paranoid I call Helga, have her come find you, and smack you." The thing about Phoebe was that there were never empty threats. She didn't indulge in gross hyperbole the way most people their age did.

"Okay," Gerald took a breath. "I'm sorry." That was a complete lie, but he didn't have any idea with the level of crazy his girlfrie- fiancee, was hitting him with. Phoebe was normally the most level headed person he knew. "Tell me again, _why_ exactly are you doing this?"

"Gerald," She took a breath, "if you trust me at all, please, please, just go pack a bag. You can leave it in your dorm and text me tomorrow and call me a crazy bitch all you want, but for right now…"

"Phoebe…"

" _Please_."

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

STATE COLLEGE, PENNSYLVANIA

Stinky thought it was a fairly normal Thursday afternoon. He dropped his stuff in his dorm, on his blue Penn State bed sheets, stretched out his arms, and was going to play a few hours of video games before meeting up with some friends for dinner. He was maybe only an hour into it when he heard a crash. He was on the first floor of his building, and he peered curiously out through his blinds. There were two students who got in an accident, screaming at each other in the nearby parking lot. That wasn't the most peculiar thing about the picture, it was more so the cars desperately trying to pull around the the accident, and even more students filing out of the dorms to try and get into their cars.

He looked down, and he had a missed call from his friend Sarah, one from his friend Andy, and four from his mother.

Well…

That couldn't be good.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Eugene was distraught. He was panicked, under a table, carpet scraping against his elbows, smeared sauce by his hip, sweating profusely. He didn't want to call it cowering, but that's what it was, he had never been more terrified in his life.

Very rarely did he think about how he spent two minutes of his time, just _two minutes_. Two minutes ago, he was thinking about being bored. Not that he didn't love Natalie and Cory, who he was eating dinner with, but he had just wished he had stayed in to work on stuff instead.

If he just said that, if he just got up and left…

He'd be outside, at the least, and not stuck in what felt like a literal sink hole into hell. He had always had bad luck, always. It never failed. But when the waitress had gone to check on the kitchen, and started screaming, and it was chaotic, people shoving each other towards exits and his friends were out of the booth, and his shoelace was stuck under the table and he was flat on his face all of a sudden and those people…were green and awful looking and he crawled under the table to hide and this one girl wouldn't stop screaming and now…

The restaurant was eerily quiet now.

Save for this sickening, crunching, slimy sound. Eugene couldn't focus on anything but the _awful_ smell.

He had no idea what was wrong with those people, whether it was a cult or a sick prank, but he couldn't stop shaking, and he didn't dare peer out from under the table. He knew he would be violently, violently ill.

He was so convinced he was already dead.

He moved ever so slightly to the right, wincing as the spilled barbecue sauce seeped into his pants. He dipped his finger in it, and slithered up to the table, curls falling in his eyes.

He didn't think anyone in their right mind would respond to a hastily written HELP on a diner window, written in what looked more like blood than barbecue sauce, but he _had_ to try.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

Sheena's smoke alarm went off while she was sitting at her dining room table, going over her history assignment. She frowned, and sniffed the air, calling for her dad, whom, to the best of her knowledge, was upstairs after taking a half day from work. She maybe smelled something burning, something distance, though, certainly not in her house. She pushed the glass of her porch door, and thick smoke rolled into the room. She coughed, and looked down to see, yep, that was certainly her neighbor's house, two doors down, on fire. Very much on fire.

One of her neighbors from across the street was frantically calling the police, the others were crowded around their son, who was several years younger than Sheena, maybe a senior in High School? He looked like he had a nasty, gushing wound in his side.

She called out to her dad once more, but then ran out to see if she could help at all.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Nadine's hair was in her eyes, and she had just punched some guy in the face, and she felt like she had no other options than straight up running through the streets. She had lost sight of Day and Christine two blocks ago, she went down a side street they went up the main block, towards the Franklin Institute, because they were complete idiots. Her throat burned, and she still had no fucking clue what the riot was caused by, because they were just walking down the street and this massive fight broke out.

Someone, evidently, wanted to run faster than her, because they shoved past her, running towards Spring Garden, the next major road. She panted, letting her dread fall in her face, as she put her hands on her knees. She had no idea what to do or where to go, so she followed the last human she saw, the asshole that just shoved her.

Garden street was an absolute fucking disaster of people slamming their horns, and no one moving anywhere. She wiped the sweat off her forehead, damning the day she ever decided to run in wedges.

Several people pushed past her now, running up one way or another. She was lost in the middle of the shoving and the honking and then something was honking even louder and she blinked and, holy shit, they were honking at her.

"NADINE!"

And what did she know it- it was Arnold, less football shaped than he was in high school. They both went to Temple, but she hadn't seen him in over a year.

He waved her over to his car, in the second lane of traffic. But it wasn't moving, so she obliged, feeling the sweat rub against her skin under her coat. She would have winced if she were less confused.

"I'm going to Drex to get Ger, but then I'm headed to Hillwood, the city isn't safe, do you want a ri-"

Arnold couldn't even finish his sentence in his dumb little peacoat before Nadine was sitting her ass in the passenger seat.

* * *

Helga dropped what was left of her cigarette and used the toe of her boot to rub it into the ground. She watched as some kid biked up to her dorm at Temple, dropping his bike and bolting inside. Which was funny, because most everyone was bolting outside and Helga was just thinking about how she needed some kind of wheels to get her the 3 miles to Temple, to Gerald, to a ride home.

She'd feel bad about taking it one day.

It was dangerous as fuck, swerving through traffic, she almost lost her beanie, and she wished she were wearing something better than the army jacket and flannel she had on. Her hands tightened against the handles, mostly to keep the feeling in them, wind whipping her aggressively.

She fought through the swarms of people crowding the streets outside the dorm, not unlike the boy who dropped the bike at her own place. She had only been to Gerald's dorm once, a surrogate Phoebe the day he moved in, because she moved in first. She must have had a sharper memory than she thought, because she found it, and he was still in there, thank God, because she hadn't bothered to call. But she stopped in her track as the sight of him, his dark blue hoodie drawn up over his head, black duffle bag in his hand.

"You're going towards Phoebe, aren't you." She knew by the look on his face when she shoved open his door.

Gerald smiled, the smallest, tiniest fraction, and shook his head, "damn Pataki, you ever heard of knockin?" He didn't stop shoving shit into the bag, not for a second.

"You're headed North?" She ignored his question. She ignored the cramping in her calf from the bike ride. She ignored the twitch in her hands from being outside without gloves on. What she couldn't ignore was that Gerald had his heavy winter coat in his hand, the one he took skiing last year.

"Yea," he sighed, looking up at her. I'm sorry were the words that went unsaid, that hung on to the end of his sentence anyway. She shook her head to dismiss the apology he didn't even say, crossing one arm under her to warm her hand, the other she held up by her chin. She bit on some dead skin on the end of her thumb.

She didn't mean to pace, but she was pacing back and forth in Gerald's dorm, pretending he wasn't watching her.

"Okay well," she stopped suddenly, inhaling sharply. She whipped around to face him, "good luck," she held her arms open, and he scooped her into them. He squeezed her so tightly it made her lungs, which felt a little bruised from the harsh wind of the bike ride, ache more. "Tell Pheebs I love her."

"The last text she sent me that got through was that she was going towards Mattituck. I don't have any options." He was explaining himself to a woman who already understood him, but she didn't want to point that out. She just noded, wiggling her toes in her boots, willing warmth to return to them, "Helga," he stepped back from her, "you need to find Arn-"

She held up a hand before he finished the sentence. "Absolutely not. I'd live in this dorm room for the entire duration of…whatever this is, before I'd do that."

"He was just her-"

"I'm serious, Gerald, you're gonna come back and find me here if you keep talking." She stared him down, and he backed down. He was frustrated, but he backed down.

"Where are you going, then?" He took a step back, muscles tensing as he spoke. Helga could see it in his face, the worry. It made her chest tighten more than the hug did.

"Home." She answered quickly, "I just don't know how." She shook her head again, feeling her beanie start to slip off the back of her head. "I'm serious, though," she said as she walked backwards, "tell Phoebe…"

"I will." Gerald told her solemnly with a nod. "Please, try and be safe, Pataki."

Helga could only smile as she slipped around the corner of his door. She waited a second, until she heard Gerald start to ruffle through his items, before gently setting her head back on the wall. Normally, at times like these, her mind would be moving too fast for her to even stop and record a thought, plan an action. This time, however, her heart had caught in her chest. She had a plan and it failed.

"Arnold?" Gerald answered his phone. "Man, I need you to turn around. No, I'm still goin' North…no well…take a guess."

Helga wanted to turn around and smash her head through the wall.

"Of course she doesn't. It doesn't matter, she needs it. Homegirl doesn't even have whee- no, I know, Arnold, can you listen to yo' own dumbass for a second, I've been there literally everytim- **_because_** , Arnold. She needs help, man."

He paused and let him talk through whatever he was trying to say over Gerald. Helga put her face in her palms, rubbing vigorously against her thick eyebrows. She was not gonna take the time to cry, goddamnit.

"If I know anything about the girl, she's scaling the side of my building, headed towards the roof."

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

Sid had to abandon the bus. In fact, he was the one who opened the fire exit. Two girls had dragged this dude on, saying they couldn't get an ambulance to even respond to the call, and that they needed to be at a hospital.

It was less than 7 minutes before the dude was turning green and Sid slammed open that door while the bus was still moving. He only felt less crazy people most of the bus filed out behind him.

He was running through side streets, feeling the wind sting at his face, and his breath catch in his throat, hair falling into his eyes as he ran. He ran long enough that his legs started to feel numb.

And when he finally made a left at Turner, right on Rye… first turn off of Lischen…

There was one of them, grotesquely gnawing through… what looked like his neighbor Paul.

Sid couldn't tell you if it was more the sight, or the run, but he turned around and promptly threw up, retching loudly as he emptied the contents of his stomach.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Brian sighed, and shut the blinds of his sensible one person dorm. While he was standing, he locked the dorm door as well. He still hadn't gotten his call to get through to his mom, but he sent her an email, reassuring her he would stay put until morning, when he would make his way to the quarantine shelter that was being broadcasted over the radio.

When he sat down, he heard the inevitable sound of glass breaking from the street below, and then loud hollering.

He sighed again.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

STATE COLLEGE, PENNSYLVANIA

Harold was interrupted from throwing random shit into his truck, amidst the scurrying people, from a phone call. He was shocked it got through, the server had been blocked up for over an hour.

"Hey-" he tucked tucked it in-between his shoulder and his ear, grabbing a jacket off the top of the pile, October chill really setting in with the setting sun, and slammed the hatch shut. "Nanc- where are you?"

"I'm with Liz and Jess, we're headed for the-" There was a crash on her side of the line.

"Nanc," he stopped by his truck door, unable to focus on anything but the sound of her voice, "Nancy, are you okay?"

"We're headed for the hospital- there's something wrong with Jess, she's barely breathing-"

"Nancy," he interrupted, opening his car door, fumbling in his back pocket for his keys, "where are you? I want to come get you, I'm gonna head for Hillwood, my moms scared shitless."

It was fuzzy again, but he heard her speak anyway, that hers were too and she was going to go to them as soon as she could. He sighed, because he understood, but also because that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

Her speaking once again became unintelligible due to a bad connection, but he heard the end of it "found Stinky?"

"Have I…" Harold pulled out haphazardly, after his truck roared to life. "Stinky?"

"Stinky," She came through poorly again, "Stinky Peterson. You need to find him before you go."

"Oh, Christ, Nanc, I-" Harold regretted ever telling her about the story of last summer, because she would not let go of feeling bad for fucking Stinky Peterson, when it was his own damn fault he made himself a social pariah. Harold's truck crashed over a speed bump and he cursed.

"You brought him here, Harold, he needs you to get back." She sounded irritated with him. Harold didn't even understand what was going on, or why everyone was freaking out, and why his mother was so hysterical when she called him that afternoon.

"Nancy, my mom-"

"Harold."

Harold audibly groaned, "he's in the terraces, ain't he?"

"First floor," she sounded fuzzy, but satisfied. "At least look."

"If my mom kills me for this, I'm telling her it was all you," he grumbled, as he turned out on to a side street, off the cluttered roads.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Arnold drove around the side of Gerald's building, and there she was, climbing the wall, the last person he wanted to see and yet the only person he was actively looking for. He didn't even bother stopping the car, Nadine was sitting in anyway. He grumbled his way out of the packard, glad he bothered to put on gloves, and shut the door with a slam that was maybe louder than he intended.

"Helga," he cupped his hands around his mouth, hollering up to her. "HELGA. HEY, **HELGA:** GET DOWN FROM THERE, LET'S GO." He looked to his right, at the street he could barely pull up due to an accident. All the traffic, of course, was trying to go in the other direction, not deeper into the city.

"ARNOLD?" She whipped around, looking terrified, and for a moment, he almost felt bad. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HE-"

"I'M TAKING YOU BACK TO HILLWOOD, GET DOWN, SO WE CAN GO-"

"WELL, THANK YOU," She coughed, and he knew she hated herself for it, "FOR PLAYING WHITE KNIGHT, BUT I DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU GOT THE IMPRESSION I NEEDED ANY KIND OF HELP FROM YOUR-"

"HELGA," He interrupted, dropping his hands with frustration, opting to just…scream up at her, "ARE YOU BEING FUCKING SERIOUS, STOP THIS NONSENSE, LET'S GO."

"MY NONSENSE?" Helga leaned against the fire escape, instead of looking like a princess in an ivory tower, looked every bit like the dragon who it. A dragon forged of brick and plaid, and fingers burned by cigarettes. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO ROLLED IN HERE, ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY, LIKE YOU ALWAYS FUCKING DO-"

"Y'ALL." A new voice added into the mix. Arnold turned around to see a very pissed off Nadine, with her entire upper body leaning out of the packard. "CAN Y'ALL CUT THIS WHITE BULLSHIT, AND GET YOURSELVES KILLED ON YOUR OWN TIME?"

"Nadine, I'm sorry, she's just so…" Arnold didn't mean to drag her into all of this, whatever, but she

"Arnold, I'm serious, white bullshit later, we gotta fuckin go-" she jabbed her finger down the alley. Whatever monsters you wanted to call them, Arnold had no idea what they were, two of them were crawling towards them, painfully slowly.

"HELGA," He turned around, scream feeling like it tore his throat apart, "LET'S- oh."

Helga was on the ground, a foot and a half in front of him. She wiped off her hands on her pants, Arnold noticed they were bleeding. She rubbed a hand on her face, pale from the cold, and it smeared on her cheek. He opened his mouth to say something, and he didn't even know what, but Nadine yelled at them again.

"Y'ALL HAVE ABOUT FOUR SECONDS TO GET YOUR DUMBASSES IN THIS CAR BEFORE I DRIVE IT MYSELF."

And then he didn't have time to think about Helga, because the only thing he could think about was how to get the fuck out of the city.

* * *

 _a/n yes i am writing a chapter about literally every kid from the intro of hey arnold, sub lila for ruth mcdougal because i could give half a fuck about ruth mcdougal, and adding curly & brainy because. curly & brainy. no not everyone will get a bit in every chapter. chs 2,3,4 will be about half as long & 5 will be about this length, because it'll be broken up like the comics, into sets of fives. _  
_if you like the walking dead franchise then you'll probably find this fascinating because i'm gonna take plots from the comic, from the show, from the games and just...snowball it into this._

 _i can't wait to talk about the past in this fic :) finally some dram that isnt h/a centric. dont worry, they have their own dram._

 _for the sake of cartography i gave hillwood a place in this one- it's a city about an hour out from Philadelphia. I chose Philly because there's a ridiculous amount of colleges in a compact space in philly which is excellent for dram's sake._

 _so...everyone was shown at various stages of this falling apart of course, but, based on what you know now...who do you think is the most screwed?_

 _i mean, i know who is- but i'm curious about what you think._

 _thanks for reading. lots of love, k xx_


	3. Chapter 3

**Book One: The Tempest**

 **Chapter Two:**

 _He that dies pays all debts._

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

Sid had his face leaned up against his arm on the brick wall, taking deep breaths after just emptying the contents of his stomach on to the street, when something made a specific grab for his ankle. Sid yelled, stumbling and feeling a second wave of nausea.

He turned around hastily, and was lucky he already puked, because he would have done so again if there were anything left in his system.

The man on his stomach in front of him was hardly a man, hardly human, and was bringing his mouth towards Sid's foot with determination, despite the fact he was missing an arm, the open wound dragging agains the filth of the road. His face looked…gray and decayed and his mouth moved ceaselessly.

Almost without thinking, he used his other food to step on the wrist of…whatever he, or it, was. It barely seemed to know pain. It was the most sickening thing Sid had ever seen in his life, it just hinged it's jaws towards his ankle again.

Sid did the only thing he could think to do against the slow moving bastard, and stomped his free foot on the mouth headed towards his ankle. It merely hissed at him, snapping it's jaws towards him again. So he stomped again.

And again.

And again.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Whatever was wrong with those people, the cultists, the witches, Eugene didn't know what to call them, they had appeared to have gotten bored with…with the person they were consuming. It was starting to get dark in the store, and Eugene could only imagine the sun was setting. The…the things, or whatever they were, were now attracted to the one door, where there was a car alarm going off outside. Eugene took notes in his mind, it was always sound first with them. If he could only ensure that he made no sound getting to the door on the other side, the one they weren't attracted to, then just maybe…

He had no way of measuring how long he was thinking about this plan but the sun was still in the sky when the bells of the door rung follow swiftly by a crash as the doors were slammed into the walls.

A hoarse voice screamed "GET THE FUCK INSIDE-" and a sickening crunch, followed by another voice yelling "MOTHERFUC-" and another deafening crack. The inevitable sound of people distracted from the continuous cracking, and Eugene slammed a hand over his mouth, willing himself not to be sick with the smell that was permeating the room. The bell rang again as the door slammed shut, on the one side, but it was less loud because of the sound of the people in the room. The bells jingled again, but only lightly, like whoever shut the door was struggling to keep it shut.

"DON'T JUST STAND THERE," the voice from before was back "FIND A CROWBAR, BREAK A TABLE, I NEED SOMETHING TO PUT IN THE HANDLE, AND THEN WE BARRICADE THE FUCKING DOOR. MOVE, MOVE MOVE!"

"A LITTLE HELP OVER HERE," The other voice returned too, along with Eugene the specific crack again. "BUT YOU KNOW, TAKE YOUR TIME, NOT LIKE IT'S A-" a grunt, then a crack, "PROBLEM."

It got so loud in contrast the muffled sounds Eugene had gotten used to in the last few hours. His heart was racing and his tongue was dry and his chest compressed. And he realized he was having a panic attack, in the middle of a fucking epidemic.

Eugene, taken out not by disease, but by panic. Sounded about right.

He rolled to his side, not able to care about the mush of the barbecue sauce leaking in through his pants, retching silently at the floor, willing any air at all to enter his lungs. People were still yelling and the jingling had finally stopped, but the clammer and clashing sounds of furniture moving were echoing in his mind. He could see the sweat on the backs of his hands, and he hacked again. He wasn't breathing- he wasn't breathing and he was going to die, right there, under that table. He had his eyes wrenched shut, and just registered that at some point in time, someone had flipped on the lights. He had collapsed on to his sweaty hands, when the table he was cowering under was lifted up, and light flooded on to his skin for the first time in hours.

"Fuck!" Some masculine voice yelled, and he heard the clatter of the table crashing to the ground. They must have dropped it again. "There's another one in here."

"I got it," a voice offered, not sounding at all like they wanted to.

Eugene opened his eyes just in time to see a baseball bat with nails sticking out of it swinging towards his face, and he screamed like his lungs had just learned how to work. Nothing in Eugene's life ever worked out, and he knew that, but he reflexively covered his face with his arms anyway. The scream must have deterred them enough, because the guy faltered, just barely, directing his swing up just in time, so the nails just barely caught the surface of the skin of Eugene's forearm.

That was better than a direct hit to his face, but it still hurt like fucking hell, and Eugene screamed louder, sitting up and backing himself further into the corner of the booth.

A faint jingle of a bell was heard in the distance, and people were moving again.

"Jesus Christ, shut that kid the fuck up!" A female voice, struggling with something, yelled.

Eugene got his eyes open for the first time, and his throat was raw, breaking off into a sob, using one hand to collect the blood under his forearm. He looked up through teary eyes, the horrified boy with the baseball bat staring helplessly at him, tall with a lot of hair on the top of his head and almost none on the sides. A girl with half of her brown hair shorter than the other half, standing a few feet back from him, watching Eugene with a deer in headlights look. A girl with the front of her green tank top smeared in god knows what.

"Oh for the love of-" A voice called from behind them, the first one to start yelling in the shop that day, hoarse and tired, and the body attached to it pushed through the three of them "give him some fucking room, and put the bat away, before you give him a goddamn heart attack, Ada-" Eugene registered the shoes first, red converses smeared in god knows what. His eyes continued up the body, passing ripped black skinny jeans, a red v-neck t-shirt and then… oh, god.

"Holy shit," Curly whispered under his breath, staring down at Eugene. "It was always you, wasn't it?" He put a hand on the shoulder of the guy with the baseball bat, and turned around to address the room behind him. "False alarm, everybody. And what part of 'give him space' did you cumbuckets not understand?" He pushed the guy backwards. Eugene didn't even know how to process this new information, so his mind didn't. He just looked back to the searing pain on his arm, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Let me see," Curly's voice was by him again, and he looked up, and his face was nearing his arm. He grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm to get a better look. Eugene bit his lip to not cry out from the pain of it, and he tasted the steely atrosion that was blood in his mouth. Curly whistled, wrinkling his nose under thick, black frames, "he really did a number on you." Curly's eyes were on his then, and Eugene noticed his hair, how it was still long but pushed back from his face, curling just under his ears. "You'll be alright, there-" he winked at him, setting the hand which wasn't on his wrist on his knee, which was smattered with _blood_ and Eugene leaned his head back against the wall, decently sure he was going to faint and vomit, just not sure in what order. "Whoa, man, you hang in there," Curly's grip on his knee got tighter and the bile got stronger in Eugene's throat. "YO- Curly yelled out to the still clambering room, "WHO'S GIVING UP A SHIRT TO THE CAUSE?"

A girl with long black hair walked up, bun looking comically enormous on her head, taking off her over shirt- a red flannel. Eugene shut his eyes again and tried to even his breathing.

"Here you-" she then had a sharp intake of breath, "dammit, Gam, you're kid's bit."

The pressure was gone from his knee and arm dropped to his lap. He heard the squeaking of Curly's converse on the floor. Eugene felt his curls sticking to his forehead as he looked up at Curly's horrified glance down. He followed his eyes to his hip, where he was now completely soaked through, and smeared with barbecue sauce.

"It's not-" Eugene croaked out, letting his head fall back again, thudding loudly on the edge of the booth. "Ah-" he picked up his stinging arm, cradling it carefully, "it's just," he huffed out a jerky breath, "sauce."

And that was how Eugene found himself, blooding pooling in his lap, sweat pouring down his face, with Curly's hand in his pants. He had to shut his eyes again as Curly's hands, larger than he expected them to me, skated down his hip under his shorts, looking for a wound.

"He's right, Saf." Curly directed his voice backwards. "No wound, just," he smelled his hand, "barbecue, I think."

Eugene heard the sound of something being tossed to Curly, and then he had the strength to open his eyes again, as Curly tenderly took his arm to him, beginning to wrap it in the flannel.

Curly glanced up from his focus on Eugene's arms, some dark hair falling into his eyes, and he had this somewhat crooked smile on his face, "hey." He greeted with a smirk.

Eugene let his head fall back again, not even minding the thud, and wondered if he maybe just died at some point and this was all just an elaborate version of hell.

* * *

When Rhonda woke up it was dark outside and someone was screaming bloody murder down the hall from her. She pushed her fingers through her hair, finding it slightly surprising that it was sweaty, but then again, she had slept in her sweater from that morning. She'd need a change before she was going to meet Ethan anywhere. Her stomach sunk, though, because she had no idea how late it was. She might have unintentionally stood him up.

The screaming was so oddly insistent and extremely annoying. She ran a hand over her face, regretting that move instantaneously, feeling the grease build up on her hand despite the expensive cosmetics she used. She grimaced at it, and then smacked a hand on her wall to signal to fuck fucking screaming. She hated being the bitchy neighbor, but she'd be texting her RA soon if they couldn't put a lid on it.

She unlocked her iPhone. She winced at the time- it was 7:42, just a few minutes before she set her alarm. She was surprised, however, to only have two texts from Ethan. He must have told her to meet her later, then, she wasn't late yet. She was going to be, but she wasn't _yet_.

eth :* :* :*

meet you at novus at 730?

love u nap well xx

She blinked at the oddity of it. It was well past 7:30, and yet she hadn't gotten the plethora of 'are you okay' texts. She tried to refresh her screen, but it wasn't loading properly. Upon examining the top of the screen, she learned her phone wasn't even connecting properly to the system, which was odd.

The screaming had died down into this bizarre choking sound, and Rhonda's curiosity was officially piqued. She used her elbow to push open her dorm room door, and tilted her head out of her door way.

She barely heard the smash of her phone's screen when she dropped on the hard floors. She couldn't really have expected to hear anything over the sounds of her own screaming.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA

"Lila," Drew said ominously. He had woken her up after the movie ended. She had fallen asleep at some point in time during it. He told her in a serious tone that they had to leave, and that he had pulled up the truck and thrown some of her stuff in a bag. She thought he was joking at first, considering he wasn't the one who wanted to go out. Then she thought it was surprise. Then she noticed the mysterious red substance smeared across the front of his shirt. And she had nodded and put on the shoes he handed her. They were now pulling out of an ominously empty student parking lot, away from some screaming that was happening on campus just a quarter mile walk away. "I need you to do two things for me," Lila looked at his hands, gripped so tight on the passenger wheel that Lila could see even in the lowlight glow of the passing street lamps. His face was set into hard lines, hidden mores than normal under his cap and in his beard.

"The first is, and I'm serious, say a quick prayer in thanks to God that I got gas this afternoon." Lila's heart was in her throat, and she didn't even know why. Why were those people screaming? Why was he acting so strangely? "The second, do not ask me to stop. For any reason, no matter how good you might think it is. We're headed towards Hillwood."

"…why?" Lila asked softly. "What's," She looked out the window, at a strange sight they passed that was barely illuminated, two people leaned over another. "what's going on?"

"People," his voice broke, and Lila had never ever heard it do that, "people are getting very sick and no one knows why so we have to get away from a largely populated area. Lila, listen to me. Do not ask me to stop."

"But, I-"

"Lila, if you ask me to stop, I won't be able to say no, and we cannot stop." Lila could barely listen to his words, her heart starting to race. She looked out the window, and two girls came screaming out of their house, the second to the last one on their street. They waved at their car. Drew paused, briefly, at the stop sign at the end of the street, and then kept driving.

"But, Drew," She had basically turned around in her seat, " _Drew_ , I think they need our hel-"

"Lila, tell me about the cottage." He told her firmly, reaching out and grabbing her thigh.

"But Drew-"

"What flowers are going in the planters?" He asked her specifically, hardly, turning again, avoiding heavy, congested traffic that was on the road they were headed down.

This was something they did, routinely, mostly when Lila couldn't fall asleep. They had a…fantasy, what have you, of a small cottage in the forrest. Lila would be able to bake, and be a teacher. He'd be able to be an account from home, and stay with the kids. The dream got detailed, down to the color of the dish towels, and the wall paper in the guest room, and the wooden playset that they'd build.

"Uh-" she stuttered for a moment, "ogon," she answered solemnly, settling down in her seat, "and some succulents, probably angelica, maybe some sedum…" she trailed off, looking at the siren lights that were flashing down a side street they passed, because they were sitting still. It looked like a bad accident. She let her eyes hold on as long as she could to the sight, until it was out of view.

"What kind of record player are we getting?"

"Uh-" She trailed off again, looking at a crowd of people that seemed to be…in a fight of some sort. She was forced to look back when Drew swerved, to avoid crashing into a parked car. "Uh," she cleared her throat, "probably the audio technica one to start, until we-" another swerve, "until we can afford a better one."

"And the bedding, what color would you like again-"

"Oh, Drew-" This guy was under the light just a head of them, screaming in horror, on his back. He was kicking at something, something was attacking him! She leaned out of her seat, ready to roll down her window.

"Bedding, Lila. Purple or blue?" He demanded, swerving down a side street aggressively.

"Lavender-" She said softly. She turned in her seat, unable to tear her eyes away, and her ears couldn't escape his screams.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Rhonda never thought herself of capable of lifting her television. She had a man put it in the rig her parents bought her.

She supposed, she never thought of herself capable of trying to smash her own window open, but learned quickly after shattering her wooden chair she needed something stronger. She was vaguely aware of the shards of glass in her arm as she smashed her television through it.

She probably also never thought herself capable of jumping through a window, let alone one on the second story.

She learned quickly that things you didn't think were possible become probable when you don't want to face whatever's banging on the other side of your door.

W _hatever_ it is.

She barely knew what happened in between seeing those things in her hall to where she was in that moment, on the ground outside of her dorm, throbbing pain in her ankle and searing cuts in her arms. Her hair was in her eyes and she managed to take a few weak steps forward before collapsing on to her knees on the pavement, saving herself more shards of glass.

She was in so much pain she could barely register the voice yelling at her from their car.

 _Barely_.

* * *

 _a/n everything is dark and sad and scary...happy halloween everybody.  
fun game: ten points to you if you can tell me the ha! episode title hidden in the chapter_

 _xx, k._


	4. Chapter 4

**Book One: The Tempest**

 **Chapter Three:**

 _How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,_

 _That has such people in't!_

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

A white-faced Sheena quietly followed her father across the sidewalk and into the local middle school, where she herself had attended, but years ago. She had witnessed her neighbor bite into the calf of her own sister not thirty minutes ago. She was a little shaken up.

People inside were sobbing as they were filed into two categories, injured and...not. Her father turned around, staring at her with a hard expression, before grabbing her shoulder and steering her in the direction of those who remained uninjured. "Mike!" She heard someone call out to them as they filed into the gym that was filling up rapidly. Walking in their direction was a much shorter than both of them, Harry Steelman, whom her dad had worked at the building company with for years.

"How are you guys holding up?" Harry asked as he finally weaved his way to them, reaching out to exchange a manly handshake with her father.

Her dad glanced down to her, "about as well as expected." He looked back to him, "Molly ended up heading to the shelter in Newton County," her dad sighed, "she just couldn't make it through traffic. Did you get Linda and the girls here?"

"Yeah, oh yeah-" Harry glanced behind himself for a moment, indicating a family somewhere in the midst of weary people. "Hey, listen, what'd you drive here?"

"The truck."

"Yeah, same," he nodded. Oddly, he glanced at Sheena for only a moment, as if he had rather she weren't there. Sheena had no intention of being anywhere but by her father's side. "Look, me and a couple of the guys are thinking about heading out for a bit, seeing what we can gather up for the group. That old bat," he indicated someone Sheena vaguely recognized as a city council woman was in obvious disarray, flying back and forth in between stations and attempting to keep already calm volunteers calm, "wants everybody staying put, but Anthony reckons if we get him to the shop with some helping hands, he can use what he's got to make a couple dozen pies. Sharon," he indicated another woman, who was wearing pastel scrubs smeared in something vile, calming down a mother who's 15 year old son had been sent to the injured room, "says the hospitals' a complete shit-show, and that we can't send anybody over under any circumstances; but if we get some trucks out there, they can get some supplies over here."

Her dad had put his hands in his pockets, steely, considerate expression falling over his face. He looked down at Sheena, and she had no idea whether that was a call for her opinion. If it was, she wasn't sure she had one. Although that sounded like a decent plan, the fact of the matter was the city was locked into a traffic grid lock, and the stunt could have a lot of people trying to make their way back to the school on foot.

"What's her," her dad tossed his head back in the direction of the councilwoman, "plan?"

"Panic until the Mayor calls," Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Sheena felt her dad's eyes on her again, but her gaze just fell to the floor. Her dad put another hand on her shoulder. "Alright," she knew he was nodding, "yeah, I'll take Tony to the shop."

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

STATE COLLEGE, PENNSYLVANIA

Harold was greeted with a mostly empty parking lot by the time he pulled into the terraces. He, worriedly, checked his phone one more time to see if Nancy had called him back, but he came up with nothing, and stomped his way over the shut door of the dorm. He had to fiddle in his pocket for a moment to free his I.D. card, which he scanned irritably.

He was then promptly greeted by a collapse of furniture in front of him, some of which came tumbling down to land directly on his feet.

"Ow!" He yelled hoarsely, jumping backwards with feet that almost looked like they were doing the worst Irish jig in the world, "what in the fucking..." He kicked some of the chairs out of his way with fervor. "Yo!" He cupped his hands around his mouth, "Stinky, if you're back there, come the fuck out here," he yelled aggressively, dramatically kicking more stacked up furniture out of his way.

"Harold?" The guy he yelled for stuck his head out of the first door to a dorm, "what in God's name are ya' doin' here?"

He had sweat on his forehead, and a chair in his hand.

"I figured you needed wheels back to Hillwood," Harold grumbled, itching the inside of his wrist with his hand.

"Oh," Stinky looked forlornly at his pile of furniture, which Harold had destroyed in his entrance. "I was kinda thinkin' I was gonna stay here."

Harold gazed around the hall with a critical look, "by yourself?"

"I think I might be better off on my own," Stinky commented warily, giving Harold a look that made him feel like a fucking bear, or something, "it at least seems that way lately." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "And I was gonna water the flowers on the grounds tomorrow because I don't think Stu was feeling well today..."

Harold began to tune him out, because he didn't care. Harold didn't appreciate being made to feel like Stinky's recent social exile was his fault, or anyone's but his own. However, as he glanced from Stinky to the door, he knew there was no way he was leaving without the annoying asshole by his side. Harold stepped over the chairs, kicked a few of them out of his way, and stomped over to him. "Stop being so fucking dramatic," he grabbed him by the back of his collar, dragging him along with him to the door, "we're going back to Hillwood."

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

Sheena and her father learned very, very quickly that their truck's engine was very, very loud. It drew...the sick, Sheena supposed. She could only assume that's what they were. But with each passing face staring gauntly and occasionally coming after the car, she started to find it harder and harder to think of them as human at all.

The main roads were, as her mother said, an unnavigatable mess. They were making their way slowly back to the school through backstreets and neighborhoods, as their job was to, mainly, deliver Tony, and get him all the supplies they could get from the ShopRite. They left him with Paul, who had delivered their mail for years, and a few neighborhood moms, with the promise they would drive back as soon as they had food together. If they could have gone down the main blocks it would have been three or four minutes, but all the backtracking had made it closer to 15.

They were creeping down the street when Sheena noticed, oddly, that there were a few of them gathered up, standing on someone's stoop, reaching for the awning. Worst for worst, there was someone up there. Worst yet, Sheena knew him.

Sid had himself rolled into a ball, Sheena only recognized him by the mop he called hair. If she knew anything about Sid, and she regretfully did, she knew he must be in the midst of a full blown panic attack.

She put out a gently hand as a signal for her father to stop, which he did with a curious glance.

sheena 4:12

First of all, take a breath and try not to make it worse.

I can see you.

We're right on the corner.

We'll get you out of here.

Sid nearly dropped his phone from the low roof of the shitty town house, alarmed by the buzzing coming from his phone. Even from a distance, she could see how red his face was. His eyes landed on her; she pointed at her phone. He looked back down to it quickly. Sheena was, perhaps for the first time in a very long time, absolutely sure of what to do.

Sheena 4:14

Do exactly what I say.

Sid 4:14

understood

Sheena 4:15

Wait until I give all the instructions to do anything.

Sid 4:15

✔️

Sheena 4:15

Turn your phones volume all the way up, ringer too.

You'll toss it down the road.

Aim for the potted plant by Trapp's, at any rate: it can't break.

I'll call it, and the sick'll go to it. Well pull up, jump into the back.

...

Pray our service holds out, because if not, we've thrown away our only method of communication.

Sid 4:22

i cant get thru to anything

alarms, instead?

Sheena looked up at him and nodded. He set to work, squinting down at his phone. "Just wait until they wander away," she told her Dad as Sid messed with his phone, "then pull up on the side, he'll jump into the back.

"And then we have live bait," her Dad joked.

"Not funny, Dad." Sheena sighed. Her father never handled tragedy well. It obviously made him uncomfortable. He joked around to cover whatever he was actually feeling. She just didn't know how to explain to him that the jokes made everyone else feel awkward, too.

Their plan worked...well enough, actually. Sid thumped into the back, and her father swore again as the engine revved while he pulled a K turn out into the street. It really was noise that was their calling card, and the sick were wandering after them as they pulled out of the neighborhood.

Sheena was quietly quite pleased with herself. And maybe also with Sid, who had done as she asked and quite possibly saved his life. He was hidden when she turned around to look through the rear-view mirror, out of sight in the open bed of the truck. Another smart decision.

It was strange, the way dire times…maybe brought out the best, in some people. Sheena glanced at her reflection in the perfectly angled mirror. She was certainly the same Sheena she was a couple of hours ago, but it seemed like being unsure of herself was no longer an option. Maybe…maybe that was a good thing for her.

She, however, was not expecting to find Sid still cowering into the corner of the bed by the time they finally managed to pull back into the lot of the middle school.

When she got out of the truck and paced cautiously around the side, Sid was curled up into a ball, white faced, hair sticking to him.

"Oh my god," he all but whispered, eyes searching Sheena's face for something, she didn't know what, "I can't believe I killed her."

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

STATE COLLEGE, PENNSYLVANIA

"Well, Harold," Stinky was awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. He sat tersely in the passenger seat, as if perfect posture would protect him from the past between them. "Not that I don't appreciate the ride, but why did you..."

Harold cut him off, but not with words, but music. He reached over to the stereo and cranked up the ACDC that had been playing dimly in the background.

"Ooo...kay..." Stinky drawled quietly to himself, tapping off beat to the music on his thighs. He looked at Harold. He rolled his eyes, but not at Stinky, at the road. The entrance to the turnpike had a pile up of cars, honking and people getting out to yell at each other.

Harold revved his engine, and sped by.

Stinky wanted to ask what he was planning on driving on now, but also was distinctly uninterested in pissing off Harold. He kept his mouth shut.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

It had been the worst three hours of Lila's life by the time they even saw the Hillwood sign. Driving past the people who needed her help… it was enough to make her scream. The sun had set somewhere in between the last town and the stretches of farm land. It got…less scary by nightfall, if that was possible. It seemed quieter, and the only…infected people she saw were those that walked directly into the lights of Drew's headlights. If she shut her eyes, it seemed almost possible to shut it all out, shut out the entire last three hours.

Almost.

All she wanted was her bed and her father, but that was feeling like less and less of a possibility.

"Where," Drew paused, looking like he was attempting to conceal another blocked off road, as if Lila didn't have eyes, "where do you want to," he swerved. Lila shut her eyes, "try," he swallowed, "to go, poptart?"

"I," Lila sank further into her seat, "I don't know. He didn't pick up his phone."

"I'll just drive then, okay?" Drew turned down a back road, "they've probably got a sign up for a shelter, somewhere."

They had passed other townships that had, that's how he knew that. The radio had gone dead twenty minutes out of town, before they got in local range.

Lila wanted to try and breathe deeply and keep calm and mostly keep her eyes shut so she didn't have to witness the shambles of her beautiful hometown. She knew that wasn't practical, as Drew wasn't even from Hillwood, and couldn't recognize it well enough to navigate even, probably, in regular daylight. Lila sat up and pushed the hair back from her eyes. It was sweatier than she thought it was going to be.

She saw the abundance of cars at the Middle School, an unusual sight for that late on a Thursday night. She pointed at it, in between the buildings of the avenues. "There," She told Drew, leaning over him, "head that way."

Drew obliged without a word.

She didn't mean to cry when they were greeted with people on the inside, but it had been a long day. They tried to usher her towards the room housing the sick people, mistaking pain for relief. They were so gentle, soft hands brushing her hair from her face, and gentle patting on her back. Lila could only cry harder, feeling her knees buckle and her hands shake. She spluttered, stammering away from the room of the injured, which she couldn't bear to go near, wiping at her eyes, and then Drew had her by her shoulders. She could tell the weight of his hands from the weight of others, the way his thumbs always pressed into the same spot.

"I'll head out in the morning, okay?" He muttered to the back of her head, and then she felt the scratch of his beard on her neck as he kissed her head chastely.

She could only nod.

The gym had blankets and foot, but most importantly people. People with their children, people hugging, people crying. People with their beautiful, beautiful hands outreached towards each other, curled into each other's arms, holding each other with care. Shoes were abandoned in piles in corners, telling a myriad of stories, just from the broken leather to the dirty canvas to the brand new flip-flops.

Lila put her head back on Drew's chest, suddenly overcome with gratitude. Grateful to be alive, grateful for the boy who got her there, who instinctively put a massive thumb on her face to wipe at a tear that was still tumbling down her cheek. Grateful for pizza, which there seemed to be an abundance of.

Lila decided, glancing around at the shared blankets and holding hands and sharing of plates that humanity shined brightest at the darkest of times.

"Hey, is that- hey, Steve, come here!"

And then she heard the sweet sound of her own name, coming from her absolute favorite place: the man who gave her it. She heard the glorious noise of his footsteps moving towards her.

"Dad!" She yelled, Drew dropping her hold on her, and she moved as quickly as weak knees and half-asleep feet would take her towards him. Her Dad's hold on her was so tight, she thought that if she shut her eyes, she might actually be safe there.

As if a hug from her father could build her a sanctuary.

It, of course, couldn't.

* * *

 _a/n i have no notes thank u if u still have interest in this u are the coolest of cats!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Book One: The Tempest**  
 **Chapter Four:**

 _What's past is prologue._

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Thad was vaguely annoyed with just about everyone in his sight. He was listening to Adam, some guy he met, like, 20 minutes ago, and his dumb hair that was too tall, go over a plan that wasn't properly made. Because he was tall and white and …passingly handsome, he supposed, people were listening.

The fact of the matter was they had let the sun go down and they were still stuck in the burger joint. Thad tried to leave himself, until he was all but chained to the wall because they didn't want him to take the barricade down. So, now he was sitting moodily in between Bec and Eugene, who still seemed quite rattled by the whole "guy-came-for-his-arm-for-no-damn-reason" thing.

Same guy was, for some reason, looking over a map of the city with a crowd of people, as if it fucking mattered. If you didn't know how to get to the Temple campus from that burger joint, you had no business calling yourself a resident of Philadelphia. That was where people were headed, the last they had any semblance of internet access. Adam and groupies were making up some kind of route, which was gonna get thrown to the wind when they got outside and realized there are maniacs out there. They had all somehow managed to forget. Thad just wanted the entire process to hurry the fuck up.

In fact, he was done waiting.

He picked up a chair.

"Alright," he held it up, over his head. "You guys have exactly three minutes to open one of those doors, or I'm sending this through the fucking window."

"Whoa, dude-" Some guy came towards him with his hands out. His name was probably Jeff or something else equally white, Thad didn't give a fuck.

"You take literally one more step, and I'm throwing it now." Thad warned, stepping backwards, coincidentally, almost stepping on Eugene. Eugene grabbed his pants leg in an attempt to keep him stable. He wasn't 100% sure whether that was physically or emotionally.

"Put the damn chair down," Adam rose up from the group. "We're figuring out a plan, if you didn't notice." Adam sneered at his friends, not that he and Eugene were particularly the best of pals but, whatever, his friends. "No thanks to you guys."

"Here's a goddamn plan for ya'," Thad set the chair down, but only, really, because his arms hurt. "You're gonna open the fucking door, and we're all gonna run, and do our best." He looked around at the offended faces. "Oh, _fuck off_ -" he groaned, rolling his eyes, and propping a foot on the chair, "you all know that's exactly what's going to happen. You're just pretending to give a fuck about each other, and _procrastinating_." Thad already knew he was right, but he indulged in satisfaction when they stared around guiltily at one another.

Adam was staring him down with a steely look in his eye, but the next movement in the room came from Becca. She stood up, quietly, and moved across the room to start deconstructing the barrier without a word. She didn't turn around, didn't look for permission, just slowly starting tossing aside the debris at the top of pile. Thad watched Eugene follow, and then join her effort, despite the obvious pain in his arm.

Thad looked back to Adam and group, who were a mixed bag, of watching them, of watching him, of looking down and deciding whether or not to join them. Thad caught Adam's eye again and scoffed. He kicked the chair his foot was on at him, "you're pathetic," he smirked.

He walked over to Eugene and Becca, and picked up the table they had cleared off that was guarding a lot of the entry way. It was heavy- even though Thad wasn't exactly a stranger to the gym. It was manageable, but a lot.

It got lighter suddenly, and Thad glanced up from the sparkly red table top.

Adam nodded at him, to move it to the side.

They had almost cleared the space in front of the door, doing awkward, shuffling side steps. Then a blast of noise hit them, and the table slipped out of his hands. Directly on to his foot. He yelled, anger and frustration shaking in his voice.

No one had particularly noticed, as they, too, jumped. It wasn't actually that loud- it sounded distant. But the silence had gotten deafening after sun down, and any noise at all was a surprise. The group pressed up against the glass, looking for a source, wondering if they should be afraid.

Thad couldn't be much of anything but in pain, hopping around, holding his foot with one hand. It really fucking hurt.

"Are you okay?" a soothing touch came to his shoulder and a voice by his side. He looked down and was surprised, for a moment, that he was looking at Eugene, and not Becca. "That looked brutal.

"Fine, I'm fine," he shook him off bitterly, tenderly setting his foot on the ground. "I'll," he rolled his neck back, "walk it off, or something. _Fuck_ ," he swore again.

There were suddenly more of them than they'd seen in hours, the fucking…dead people, whatever they were. They were appearing in hoards by the windows. People huddled together in fearful disgust, but they weren't at all interested in the doors that led to them. They were pushing forward…to the source of the noise.

"Someone is leading them away-" Adam whispered conspiratorially. The siren flew by, but Thad swore he never saw the car.

Adam turned around with a shit-eating grin on his face, "everyone- out through the kitchen. Let's move!"

Thad didn't so much need instruction from Adam to do it- he had already hopped over the counter.

* * *

"Every way out I can think of," Arnold huffed as he turned another corner. "Is completely gridlocked."

It was after dark. The sun had fallen sometime in between getting gas and the mindless meandering of the packard down the various avenues. The dark fell over them in an ominous way, hiding it's entirety in corners they stayed out of, headlights staying online In the path of other light. The darkness wasn't complete. Street lamps glowed and lights in apartments shone. The smidgens of light remaining hung over their heads, feeling every moment like they were getting closer to the end of it. Lights flew into Helga's eyes and she couldn't help but feel like they were a kiss goodbye.

Helga had her fist in her mouth. "Stop the car," she muttered into it, sliding around a little because she hadn't buckled her seat in the back of the car.

"What?" Arnold looked up at her through the rear view window. "What do you want to d-" he looked around at the world outside him.

"Stop the car, I'm going to walk."

"Walk?! Helga, that's crazy-"

"Stop this car, Arnold or I swear to God, I'll stop it for you."

Helga had this tightening in her throat as he pulled over to a stop. A grip on her lungs that seemed to be there solely to remind her that had she been literally any other person on the planet, he wouldn't have done it.

Nadine sat up in her seat, looking over bad at her. "It's at least a day, maybe two days walk." She warned.

Helga nodded, rubbing her hands together, wondering if she'll ever regret anything the way she regretted neglecting gloves that morning.

"I'll break into the camping store on Washington," Helga said as she re-tied the lace of her boot, "grab a compass, it's nearly straight east. Walk along the highway. It'll be easy from there. Just time consuming. But anything is better than-" Arnold's eyes narrowed at her. She rolled her own, opening the door of the car. "Have fun dying here," she grunted as she shut the door with her foot. The wind was unforgiving without the light of day, it bit a hole in her cheek and rushed through it mercilessly. And yet, even as the unforgiving cold of the night crept under her skin, she felt relieved. The muscles in her neck had been tight since she even heard Arnold's name that afternoon.

Another car door opened and shut. Helga shut her eyes and turned around, ready for yet another pointless argument with Arnold.

"Please don't star-" Nadine was standing in front of her, hands shoved into the pockets of her green coat.

"Let's go," Nadine told her quietly, and then turned down the street, walking with quiet footsteps.

Helga shrugged, shoving her hands into her own pockets, making to follow. The familiar creak and slam of the old car happened again.

Arnold was standing by the side of his car, looking cold and irritated.

She blinked. "This is the part where you say I'm right," she instructed him.

Arnold said nothing, and began to follow Nadine.

* * *

Rhonda hated being in the back of a random pick up truck more than she hated a lot of things. And Rhonda had few talents quite like her ability to be distasteful.

Her phone was useless in her hand and yet she rolled her fingers over it. She'd see him soon enough, but she itched to text him anyway. She had no idea where the idiots driving the truck thought they were going, but she'd hop off as soon as they made a turn in the wrong direction. It was part of the reason she insisted on sitting in the back. That and the only other real option was to sit in their lap. Her leg was throbbing. It was cold, she was centered in the middle of the truck bed so that she caught the least of the wind.

But she told Ethan she'd meet him at Novus, and she knew he would wait.

* * *

Brainy woke up pretty exhausted even though he was just asleep, and there were people shouting in his hall. He could see the sun just barely beginning to rise in his window. Drunk people on a Saturday, yay.

He imagined himself the kind of person who would tell them to knock it out as he opened his door to see the commotion.

They were smeared in god knows what, and the two guys were so angry they nearly had their noses pressed together. A very short girl meekly stood in the middle, pushing one to the side, seemingly to call off the fight. A noble attempt, if inaffective.

"Man, what makes you think I give a fuck about literally anything you have to say?!" The boy with the girl, dark skin and no hair, could clearly beat the crap out of the other kid. He jabbed a finger into his shorter companions chest.

"Look- I'm sorry about what happened to Jare-." The guy yelled back, thin with thin brown hair that was too long.

"OH, you're sorry?!" He put an angry, tense hand on the girl's shoulder, "hear that, Roe-Shae? The man is sorry! Thank God for that, now, Jared ain't dead anymore. We ain't stuck here no more. Bring out the balloons!" He yelled sarcastically.

The girl, thick natural hair and dark skin grabbed both of his arms. "Jonas," she told him softly, "enough."

He shook her hands off him, but walked away from the fight. He pressed his forehead up against a door, and then banged his fist in into it.

Brainy wished he never stepped outside.

"Hey, man-", the kid who was still nameless noticed him. "Do you know a way out of here?"

Brainy was wearing pajama pants with Star Wars characters on them.

"Or if anyone's around?" Roe-Shae asked.

Brainy didn't know what to do, so he just shook his head. His hands twitched. He didn't even put on his watch yet.

"A way to communicate with anyone?" The kid tried one more time.

Jonas slammed his hand into the door again, "man, fuck this." He turned angrily, making his way back down the hall. "He don't know anything." Roe-Shae and the other Somebody shared a look, and then continued to follow Jonas.

"Wait!" Brainy stepped out of his room, and into the middle of the hall, Star Wars pants and all.

They looked back, Jonas with annoyance, the kid with with apathy, and Roe-Shae with a sort of hopeful glimmer.

"The last one."

Jonas blinked at him.

"The last one I can do."

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF PENNSYLVANIA

Harold pulled into a gas station with a ridiculously irritable huff. After back road after back road, they were running low on gas and it was dark. They hadn't seen any sign of other people in miles. Stinky watched him, tense hands on the wheel.

"We're stopping here," Harold put the car in park, not looking at Stinky at all. "Get some sleep, or something."

"Are you sure you're comfortable," Stinky cleared his throat as Harold rolled down the windows a crack, "sharing a car with me and everyth-"

"Shut the fuck up, Stinky."

And that was that.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Eugene didn't know when he started following Thad's lead on basically anything, but he was all but grabbing on to the back of his shirt as they ran through the streets of the city, his girl friend on his other side.

The tip off from one of the people from the diner wasn't proving the inaccurate, as they sprinted towards the campus. There were cars lining the street outside, on the grass, even, people rushing inside, and someone trying to hang a sign outside of the building.  
Thad followed the flow of people, and Eugene followed him. He was almost inside, feet aching in his shoes, when there was a tug on his throat.

Some guy grabbed him by the back of his shirt, almost holding him up on the air. He wobbled back and forth, trying to find balance on his tippy toes. Thad must have heard him choke, because he turned around, leaving his friend to run directly into. Eugene was already feeling faint, and the cut off of air left his downright light headed. He spluttered.

"Ack-" Thad grabbed Becca by her shoulders, steadying the both of them. "Hey, bud-" he said icily, "what's the idea here?"

"When you get bit?" He spit in Eugene's face while he talked. He couldn't respond, because of the whole no-air thing.

"He isn't. Drop him," Thad pushed Becca gently to the side, "or we're gonna have a real problem here."

The guy had at least five inches on Thad, but he curiously put down Eugene all the same. Eugene put his hands on his knees and coughed up some phlegm. Becca sympathetically pat his back. He wiped his mouth with his hand and looked up. Thad was already gone. Becca followed after him.

"You," he coughed, and then pat the guy on his arm, "are very strong."

Eugene gave him a weak thumbs up and then continued down the busy hall.

His head was pounding and his heart was racing and his arm was burning and at some point in time he twisted his ankle. There were people trying to shove them in several different directions, yelling about several different things.

"Hey!" Someone stood on top of a table. "Does ANYONE know anything about radios?! We have one!"

Eugene raised a weak, surprised hand. "I do, actually." If only he could get his head to stop spinning.

* * *

"Here," Helga lead them to the shop with ease. Arnold, however, felt like he was on the edge of his toes, his hair standing up on the back of his neck. They were guided by the light of cell phones, which were gonna die soon, through streets of what he could only call monsters. They moved nearly silently, because they had learned quickly the noise of their car attracted the demons. "I got this," Arnold half expected her to pull a pin from her hair. She didn't. She had a small tool in her back pocket.

"Where did you learn to do this?" He asked warily.

"Sunday school." She replied gruffly. He didn't see her roll her eyes, but he knew she did. He grit his teeth. Her hair was knotty in the back.

He tried to be helpful and hold his light up so she could see better. The wind knocked into his shoulder. He was freezing. He could see Helga's hands shake under the light. They were turning red.

"Could we cut it with the blinding me? Thanks." She growled, fiddling with the lock with shakier hands.

"I was just trying to be helpful," he replied defensively, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

"Trying is not succeeding," she muttered, readjusting her position to a squat, "you were blinding me."

"You're taking too long because you can't see."

"Seeing is not how this works, Arnold." She bit back with annoyance, "and I would love, literally, I would love to watch you do better."

"Not all of us are thieves." Her hands stopped moving. Her back went rigid. He wondered if she would retaliate. He wondered if he regretted saying it. He didn't have an apology on his tongue. He just clicked his mouth. "Look, I-" he swallowed. He didn't have the apology in him. Her hands resumed moving. "Just hold the lock up so I can give you some light."

"I swear to God, Arnold," Helga dropped the lock and stood to her full height. "If you don't fucking stop, I'm going to have to kill myself or you, whatever I can get my hands on first."

"I'm just trying to help-"

"You _just_ have a death wish."

"Could you not talk over me?"

"Could you be less of a dumbass?"

"FUCK!" Arnold yelled, having it up to his ears in her attitude. He didn't know how much longer he could be around her. He never cursed, and didn't even recognize the word coming from his own mouth. "HELGA, we are NEVER-" He hated this version of himself. The version of him she brought out. The one where, as hard as he could squint at her, he couldn't see the good.

"Keep," a calm Nadine's voice came to his ears. She was sitting on the ground, digging at her nail beds, "your voice down."

Her hair blew in the wind despite the knots. He held his eye contact with her fiercely. She had her eyebrows knit together so forcefully that they touched, like they did when they were younger. Her lips were chapped, and she had a horribly steely look in her eye.

"You're right," she said to Nadine. "Just give me a second," She turned around, speaking only to Nadine. "I can do this."

Arnold didn't offer her the light again.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

Sheena was sitting with Lila and her boyfriend in the back corner of the gym. She was distracted from the conversation they were having, though, because she was watching her dad pace back and forth across the floor.

Lila looked up, and followed her eye to her dad, then turned back to Sheena with an inquisitive look.

Sheena ruffled her hand through her hair. "He's worried about my mom. I wish we had a way to communicate."

"All the lines are down…" Drew mused, nodding. "I'd love to talk to my folks too, before I start driving home tomorrow.

Lila seemed to shrivel up at this, even though Sheena heard Drew mention this before. She tucked herself further into Drew's side.

"Internet, phones…" Lila hummed quietly, leaning on Drew. She looked exhausted, moreso than Sheena had maybe seen Lila look. She had always been immaculately put together. Now she was nervously tapping chipped nails on the floor of a sweaty middle school gym, with hastily done braids without a mirror.

Sheena didn't feel like a rock star herself, after eating greasy pizza and wearing her sweatshirt that was a few sizes too big.

"Do you think the radio might work?" Lila asked, looking up suddenly. "Weren't you in that club in high school?"

Yes, Sheena was. And she was amazed she didn't think of it sooner.

It took an hour for her to even remember what she was doing in the middle school radio studio as the equipment was old and gone untouched for a few years as radio shows were no longer in fashion. She tapped her hands nervously on the boards and she wrinkled her nose up as she thought it through. She gave a half assed explanation to a very interested Lila, who sat in the corner with her feet tucked up under her.

"Now," she clicked her tongue, "we find a channel that's talking…before the power goes out."

There was so much fuzz and so much silence. They held their breath as they flicked through channels, looking for any signs of life…any signs of military, and signs of anything.

 _"I don't know what we're gonna do-"_

 _"You're on the other side of the river?"_

 _"Yea."_

They found it, someone talking.

"HI!" Lila called out excitedly, jumping up to join Sheena. Sheena tried not to laugh.

"They can't hear us," she grinned at Lila. She looked down at the keyboard. "On a very basic level, we're set to receive, not to transmit."

"Can we transmit?"

"Well, yes, but all the way into Philly?" She looked around the dusty room, covered in tarps. "We're not really designed to do that. And I don't know what they're using and whether we could even get on the channel…it's been a long time since I've done this."

Lila slumped into the chair with a disappointed sigh. "I suppose it's still nice to hear them."

 _"We could try after someone drops the line but I highly doub-"_

 _"What was the siren?" A new, fuzzy voice asked. "That got a whole group of us here. Was it you guys?"_

Sheena recognized the voice. She sat forward with interest.

"Wha-"

"Sh," she shushed Lila, focusing on the radio.

 _"I'm just saying,"_ the voice replied to whatever comment they missed _, "that if we could get a sound loud enough and far away enough, we might be able to get you guys across the river-"_

"Is that _Eugene_?" Sheena whispered conspiratorially to Lila.

 _"Dude, you realize it's a four mile walk, right?"_

 _"Chill out, Jonas- do you think a stereo could be loud enough? It would have to be crazy loud, and pretty far away, too."_

"Do you want to try and talk to him?!" Lila asked, standing up excitedly. "I think his parents are here, somewhere."

 _"There's the system at Walls, too, and if we get a driver out to take it towards the lounge uptown…"_

 _"I think we should put it by the docks."_

 _"There might be people by the docks."_

"Yea," Sheena sat back breathlessly. "I don't even know if it's him. But it might be worth a shot. If he's at a bigger shelter, he might know something about what the governments doing."

"They're doing something," Lila said optimistically. "They have to be."

"There could be people anywhere."

"Then we have to spread word first."

"That's crazy."

"What do we do now? Just wait for them to figure out whatever they're trying to do in the city?" Lila asked, leaning forward and putting her chin in her palm. She had makeup smeared around her face. Sheena did not regret her choice not to wear it that day.

"I guess we just sit here." Sheena sat back in her seat. "And wait for the chance to talk to my first gay boyfriend."

Lila wrinkled her nose but didn't reply. Sheena laughed under her breath at herself.

"I guess it's really sad I have to clarify that, huh."

 _"I can't even believe,"_ the annoyed voice was back, _"that we're trying to cross the river again."_

 _"Well,"_ a new voice said. _"What's past will have to be prologue now."_ And the funny thing was, Sheena could swear she recognized that voice, too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Book One: The Tempest**

 **Chapter Five:**

 _hell is empty and all the devils are here_

MARCH 9TH, 2016

MOHEGAN LAKE, NEW YORK

There was a little bruise formed on Gerald's finger and his hands were spattered with the red paint. He realized he probably spread it on to his forehead as he wiped his sweat off from his brow. He shook the can, realizing he'd have to be conservative from here on out, smaller signs after he got off the main path. He hopped down the ladder, ice cold on his bare skin, and his feet hit the ground a little too early, his ankles ached. His car door whined with displeasure as he opened it, the smell of pine and fast food hitting him strongly. He hauled his ass in, freezing in the cold weather. He slammed the door behind him at the same time he revved the engine, key against his calloused skin.

He looked up one more time to examine the shape he had drawn on signs all the way across the roads to lead him where he was, the last exit before he got to Phoebe. The advertisement had lights above it, so it was the first one in a while he could actually see. He took backroads and twisting paths, anything to avoid a lot of people or traffic. It was a simple shape, an oval with pointed ends, a football shape, with a ribbon tied into a bow in the middle.

He, for the first time that night, tipped his head back on the seat, hands gripping the wheel, and said a very small prayer, "please figure that out, dumbasses."

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

"EUGENE," Eugene's head was dizzy and someone was handing him a _rifle_.

"You won't need to use it," the guy Brendan? Brandon? Who ever had planned this entire debacle, told him. "You're strictly radio duty. Whatever comes, Ethan or Adam got it." He had no idea who these people he was essentially trusting with his life were, and he had his eyes shut, trying to steady himself. He gave them a queasy smile and a thumbs up anyway.

"EUGENE," the voice grabbed him by the shoulder, and Eugene was some sort of thankful because he sort of thought it was the end of his time and Heavenly Father was coming for him. He opened his eyes to see Thad, spinning in place a little or maybe that was his eyes, with his large browline glasses now sitting on top of his very voluminous hair. "What the FUCK are you doing!?"

"We're going to hel-"

"What's it to you?" Brondon body checked Eugene as he spoke and his head was pounding. He was quasi-caught by someone. He reached out and patted them appreciatively. He might have accidentally patted their face but the thought was what counted.

"Eugene," Thad apparently did not care very much what Brendin's thoughts were. "You're going back out there?! I just got you here."

Eugene could feel his face crumpling up with a bit of confusion, "what happened to," he rubbed his eyes quickly "every man for himself. Do your best."

"I-" he heard Thad swallow. He looked up, and Thad was nervously looking between him and Briedon and the guys behind Eugene and Thad looked back to him "this is fucking ridiculous, let's go-"

Thad reached out for his uninjured arm, but Eugene jumped back anyway, "no." He said defensively. He looked up, with confusion, at Thad "I mean, we aren't even really frien-"

"You know what," Thad interrupted him, defensively snapping his hands back to his own body. "Fuck it, fine. Die out there," He turned around, tense shoulder muscles and hands shoved into his pockets. "See if I care."

"So…" the voice behind Eugene drawled. "Can we leave now?"

"That guy is fucking crazy," the voice, somewhat familiar, but not the one that just spoke or Brooklyn said bitterly as Eugene got shoved, just a little bit, towards the exit.

"No, dude," the annoyed voice took the phone from Brenwhatever. Eugene recognized the guy, he thought he might have been at the burger joint but it was impossible for him to remember. "Your damn navigation system isn't going to work no matter what you do about it."

"I'm just worried about getting lost."

"Then give me the keys," Eugene remembered this guy now, because on his shoulder he still had settled a baseball bat filled with nails. He was the reason for the blood loss in Eugene's arm. "I'll drive."

"We're going to the Croc Roc-"

"I know where we're going."

* * *

Helga felt so uneasy standing in the Camp store her hands were rhythmically tapping on any surface she touched. She was so unsettled by the entire event, like everyone else in the damn city, she was sure, but also she wanted to throttle Arnold so badly her arms were twitching.

"Maybe," Nadine exhaled, raising her eyebrows with an expression on her face that made it seem like it was just starting to settle over her, the entire thing. "Maybe we should sleep here tonight."  
"No." She and Arnold said together in unison. She knew in the moments after Arnold looked over to her. She did not offer him the same courtesy.

Nadine looked in between them, irritation finally setting over her dark features. "Maybe I'LL" she emphasized, "sleep here tonight."

"That's a death sentence." Helga told her quietly, non-commitally, as she ripped open boxes of flashlights to take what she could carry. She knew Arnold was watching her, but she just didn't care. They needed the flashlights to be able to see in the stupid store to find the compass because apparently the lights didn't work if there wasn't a special key.

"You really think this is better?"

"Of course I think it's better it's gonna be-" Helga looked up defensively at Nadine. Nadine raised her hand for Helga to be quiet. Her words fell off.

"No, Helga," she stared her down coldly, "I mean this." She waved a hand back and forth between Arnold and Helga.

Helga still didn't look at him. "We can make it to Hillwood." She said firmly, turning back to her packages of flashlights.

"In the middle of the night?!"

"DAMMNIT, NADINE," her temper flared up. She crumpled the tough plastic of the packaging in her hands, listening to it crack under the pressure. "THOSE THINGS ARE ATTRACTED TO SOUND, OKAY?!" She didn't mean to be yelling, but her hands were shaking and she felt so uneasy in general and Nadine had provoked it. "DO YOU HEAR THE FUCKING CITY? They'll multiply overnight, Nadine. We have to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible."

Helga, after yelling, took the time to examine Nadine's face. For a moment, between her set jaw, her narrow eyes and flared nostrils, she thought Nadine was going to yell back. "That temper of yours?" Nadine replied finally, and Helga's mouth dried up, "is gonna get you killed." Nadine shut her eyes, and took a deep breath. "Here is your damn compass." She tossed it at Helga, who caught it, dumbfounded. "You found a map?" She pointed at Arnold. He nodded. "Let's go."

Helga, angry, still, handed Arnold a flashlight, and flipped hers on. Her hands were shaking, and not from the cold. She just had a feeling something terrible was sitting on her shoulders, already there. Mocking her.

"Ah, fuck-" Nadine stumbled in front of her, just in front of the door.

"You okay?" Arnold asked, holding out his hands cautiously, as if Nadine were going to fall again.

"Yea," she picked up what she slipped on. "I just slipped on this, alligator? Advertisement?" She crumpled it with one hand, tossing it behind her. "Doesn't matter. Let's go."

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

"No, NO-" a guy was screaming by Sid's left, spitting everywhere. "YOU'RE NOT LOCKING MY DAUGHTER IN THERE." He was in the face of a dude much bigger than him, sleeves of his sweater rolled up to his elbows.

Sid ran his nails over the knees of his jeans. He thought, for just a moment, about stealing a car, and just running. Now, before anything got worse.

"GODDAMNIT, CHARLIE," A voice screamed back, "WE'RE TRYING TO CONTROL IT."

Something in the distance broke.

Sid really wished he knew how to drive.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

"So we agree," Derek, the scrawny white guy Jonas might kill at any given moment, Brainy had learned, that was his name. "Best plan is to stick together."

"Best plan is called: I'm not dying out there," Jonas cracked his knuckles. " And best of luck to you." They were sitting just inside the building, at the aimless wandering of the…whatever they were on the outside of it. Brainy sat next to Roe-Shae, just behind Jonas. He hadn't taken the time to explore the city outside of campus. He barely knew where the coffee shop was.

"Man," Derek stood up quickly. "FUCK that, that just means we'll all die-"

Jonas held up a hand. "I'm just telling you." He told him coldly. "Best of luck to you." Brainy decided Brainy's plan was stick as close to Jonas as physically possible.

"That is such BULLSHI-"

Roe-Shae smacked a hand on Jonas' chest, listening intently. His words were stopped by the sounding of the music. It was faint, for them, but they could hear it, just enough. So, apparently, could the things. As soon as their backs were turned to the door, Jonas was out through it, Brainy on his heels, clutching his plywood with terror.

It was a four mile sprint from there, and Brainy had never deeply regretted something so much as not trying out for track team.

In the corner of his eye he could spy other people pouring out of buildings. The radio idea, he realized with a flush of pleasure, must have worked, because other people had to have heard it, too. Brainy felt more confident in numbers, more confident in the background. Just so long as his back ground somehow contained the view of the back of Jonas' shirt, Brainy was satisfied. The people, as they came outside, recognized that at times they'd be running directly into, past, the monsters. They formed an almost arrow formation, Jonas at the tip, Brainy only foot steps behind him. The outer V used long weapons almost as battery rams for the formation, pointing outwards, with no formal coordination at all.

Brainy, sometimes, had to marvel at the human knack for collaboration when times became most dire. Even though the smell was absolutely repugnant and had the chaos been any less loud he might actually be able to hear the cracking of his ankles as he ran, and his knees knocked together. His glasses fogged up with his own breath and he was both sweating and freezing.

"THE HEADS, Y'ALL" A voice yelled from the back, faintly audible. "IT HAS TO BE THE HEADS," the crowd began to yell amongst itself, passing the information along, as well as the best weapons and people, making their way to the outside over their formation.

"Did you hear that?" Brainy muttered to Jonas.

Jonas tightening his hands on his axe he pulled from the fire station, "loud and clear," He replied, into the wind, hardly to Brainy at all. Which Brainy really didn't mind that much, so long as Jonas got them where they were going. That's all he could focus on really, where they were going, not the pounding pain in his feet or the scratching the wind was doing in his throat, as if it were impossible for him to take a proper breath, the air suddenly filled with needles, or the sweat in his hair, or the faint screaming behind them he didn't want explanations for. Him, the back of Jonas' shirt, and the destination. That's it.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

Harold would like the record to show that just because he woke up and the car was moving because Stinky had found gas and a map and had them about a half hour away from Hillwood, does not mean that he was the leader of that operation.

"I couldn't sleep, that's all." Was all Stinky had to offer in the way of an explanation.

Harold, personally, didn't want to know how Stinky got him from the drivers seat to the passenger side of the truck. It probably involved some kind of rolling of Harold's body. He did not want to know at all.

Harold would like people to know that had it not been for him, Stinky would have died in his dorm at Penn State.

That's all.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Rhonda was under a truck, both of the owners of it being ripped apart on either side of her, face pressed into the pavement, and she almost found it difficult to care because she honestly felt like her heart stopped beating when they got to Novus and he wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere to be seen, anywhere to be found. And maybe she wouldn't have cared had it been crawling with monsters. But it wasn't. It was empty, and he wasn't there and she had no idea if he had even gone there in the first place. Two blocks away their truck had been ambushed, but not there. There there was nothing.

The truck was still running. The pavement was heating, her clothes had ripped when she jumped out of the bed of the truck when the drivers got their faces ripped off and scrambled under it.

Her knuckles rapped into the pavement. She wanted, so badly, to cry for them. The guys that picked her up. The ones that no longer had faces or any semblance of human dignity.

They were fighting over them, the monster, things, whatevers. They were pushing there way to the men. There would only be more of them, called to the truck's noise, the longer she waited.

One of them dropped, pushed so hard into the truck that it's head popped open. It oozed towards Rhonda. She blinked at it with apathy. She reached towards it. Whatever substance had replaced it's blood, thick and the consistency of tar…it rendered it entirely inhuman. She almost vomited, but she had seen her fair share of gross things in her life.

And he hadn't been waiting at Novus.

She grabbed a hand full of it, nose wrinkling up at the foul scent, the idea of 'can't beat 'em, join 'em," playing through the back of her mind.

Then she looked down at her top, refined fabric and careful stitching, and for a second, considered just letting herself die there.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

Sheena and Lila were walking back to the gymnasium, pages full of notes from the radio cast, of whatever information they could pick up to report back.

"I hope Drew has woken up," Lila told her quietly, "I want to spend time with him before he starts driving to his family. They neared the stairwell, staring at the cheery murals of soccer players drawn by 7th graders.

"I understa-" the shattering of glass had them stopped in their tracks. They looked at each other, and then bolted down the stairs towards the source of the noise.

Sheena had thought she'd seen something akin to chaos, that day when their substitute left for a half hour, that day all her friends were drunk and fighting, in front of her house that morning, driving around with her Dad that afternoon. Nothing could have prepared her for the state of affairs at the bottom of the stairs.

There were people screaming and a small fire started in the room that had the sick people in it. People were crawling out of it, but not in the way they were before, in the way the woman who tried to eat her neighbors face had. People were dashing out of the building, desperately yelling for loved ones, running back into the madness.

Sheena almost wished she'd stayed in the radio room.

* * *

MARCH 9TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

They were on the pavement, cold air having Arnold coiled into himself for the sake of self-preservation, when it hit them. The loudest, most obnoxious music he had ever heard in his life, bursting through open windows on his right. His exact right, _his right next to him_ right. He, instinctively, hunched over, slamming his hands over his ears. Barely, he heard the hauling of feet around the corner, the rev of an engine. The shouting of humans that wasn't them.

"No," Helga shoved him, probably not meaning to, yanking on the windows, "NO, NO NO NO-" She _screamed_ , sounding terrified for the first time that night. She banged on the wall, protesting the unfairness of it all. Why would somebody do that? Did someone want them dead?

"We HAVE TO SHUT IT OFF," Helga shoved past him again, but in the other direction, towards the door, Arnold screwed his eyes shut, head pounding, barely able to hear over the music.

"No, we have to fucking run," Nadine kicked the back of his thigh, grabbed Helga's shirt and all but flung her in front of her. And they ran, around the corner, towards where the truck noise was coming from. Arnold felt like something inside him was shutting down as they were faced with six or eight or so of the monster moving towards them, the source of the noise behind them, more like. He pushed his back against the brick wall, looking up to the skies, trying to think- but he couldn't because of the music. He had nothing. No ideas. And he felt sort of stuck to the wall, eyes on the dark, starless sky.

"HELGA THE ANTS."

"THE BOULDERS, GET ON MY BOULDERS NADINE."

He didn't even care that the last words he ever heard would be absolute nonsense, as he looked around himself. He had nothing of defense, literally nothing. And so he kicked a garbage can towards the things coming towards him, grabbing the lid for himself, losing all care he had for politeness for the ill, and bashed it over the head of one that grabbed for his arm.

"ARNOLD," someone was _screeching_ at him, "you have to RUN!" He turned back, and Nadine and Helga were gone. He did a full circle spin around himself. He was alone. They left him there.

He kicked a quicker, bolder monster that lunged for him in the chest, stepping on them as he did so, foot collapsing a piece of their chest but not enough to break the skin, and ran forward.

There were more of them coming now, and now there were some behind him. He had no where to go.

The next thing Arnold knew is that something had him by the neck, and that he was dead. He was so dead.

Or it had him by the back of his shirt, rather. He couldn't breathe and his limbs were fluttering about as he was lifted into the air. He choked, spit flying everywhere, and something grabbed his ankle. He kicked at it. He reached up, around, and his elbow banged into something metal. A bar. He grabbed on to it, pulling himself up, arms shaking, hair standing on it's edge under his jacket. His other hand grabbed the bar, and with adrenaline pulsing through him, he pulled him self up. Up and over. His face collided into a metal grate of a floor, and he coughed and thought he might never breath properly again.

"Fuck," he heard Nadine say, "I'm not saying I doubted you. But that seemed physically impossible." He could barely hear them over the thumping beat of the building below them.

"Ach-" He could barely hear Helga over the sound of his own hacking. The cold was digging into his skin and he couldn't ever recall being so terrified. The sweat only made him colder. He looked up to a sitting Helga, like she had fallen back when he alleiviated her of his weight. "Adrenaline can make you do some pretty crazy shit." She was sitting, legs open, left hand cradling her right wrist. "Doesn't mean it's healthy." She shook her hand, wincing as she did so.

His elbow was throbbing, but he pushed himself up on to it, leaning into Helga. "Is it alright," he reached for her wrist, "can I do anyth-"

She used it to push herself up off the ground, as if she wanted to pretend she wasn't in pain, as if they very well didn't know the massive amount of strain she had just exerted on it. "What you can do," she growled, grabbing the railing to continue upwards "is stand up, pray it's not broken, and keep moving." And if he knew her at all, that was the last word there was to be said about it. So he listened, and they continued on an upward climb, music ringing in their ears. Every monster within a five mile radius was going to be there soon. Someone created a horde. He wondered if his fear was going to freeze on his face.

There was a short ladder climb to get on to the roof. Helga, he noticed, did it with one hand. Nadine was careful behind her, making sure the girl didn't fall. Arnold was still having difficulty breathing. The music played on.

"WHAT?" Nadine had to shout over the music, pop Arnold didn't recognize, loud, and forceful, "DO WE DO NOW?" Nadine wasn't angry despite her necessary yell, just an inquisitive question because they were now on a building with no where to be, an island in the sea of the monsters.

"I-" He could barely hear her, because she didn't yell the way Nadine had. He couldn't blame her. The wind was so bad up on the top of the building, he thought one of them might fly straight off. "I don't know."

He spotted something, on the side of the ceiling, with his flashlight. "I have an idea," he told them loudly, over the music, staring at it it's actualization. "But I have no guarantees that you won't both hate me for it." Helga turned to look at the direction of his flashlight, a fireman's ladder laying, propped up against the wall, because it seemed someone needed to be on the small roof of the door that let people to where they were standing. He shined his light over, to where he was thinking, where the next building was, just barely across the alley below them. Making a bridge with a ladder.

He didn't have to say anything for Helga to understand him. "Oh my god," she said with a horrified whisper, he could only hear her because she had come to stand beside him. He wasn't sure what was worse to her, that it might be the only feasible way to not die, and there was still a high chance of dying, or that it was his idea.

* * *

MARCH 10TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

Stinky drove them, despite Harold's loud protests, towards the smoke that was barely rising in the distance.

"That's crazy, man-" Harold looked about seconds away from grabbing his wheel "no one sees a fire and thinks- let's go for that!"

The radio stopped working a half hour ago. Stinky fiddled with it nervously anyway. "Monsters can't set a fire, Harold," he drawled nervously, spinning the radio knob around with his finger. "It's gotta be people. Maybe it's a sign they want us to find them!" He said positively, turning another corner. He had to abandon the highway and the other roads weren't much better, but he was gonna get them there.

Stinky thought, as they got to the school and opened the door, that maybe the fire was a sign they wanted to be found, if they happened to be firemen with big hoses and protective gear.

Stinky and Harold?

Probably not.

Harold, however, stepped on the pavement, looking out and around at the panicked people.

"My mom might be in there," he grunted, twisting his hat to the back and charging into the building.

Well, if following Harold had gotten him this far...

They power-walked into the doors, pushing through the people fighting to get out, Harold slower than Stinky as he stopped to examine the faces of those who shoved him, looking for someone.

To his complete surprise, someone shouted his name, before he had even fully walked into the building.

"STIIINKYYY-" Someone screamed with delight, crashing into him, arms grabbing him. His arms came up with surprise, around the person who ran full force into him, but was certainly not large enough to knock him over.

"Sid?" Harold questioned incredulously. Stinky looked down at the dark curls and face pressed into his chest that it was in fact the boy who hadn't talked to him in eight months. It had been eight months since he even acknowledged his existence. Stinky hated himself, he actually did, but he soothingly ran his finger nails along his scalp anyway.

"Harold?" Another voice added to the mix, Sheena, clutching this notebook, white faced and shocked. His ex-girlfriend and a fire, wonderful welcome back basket Hillwood had provided him with.

And one more face added to the mix, just behind Sheena, poking her head around her arm.

"LILA?" Stinky was so surprised to see her at all, let alone there. They stared around at each other, Sid still latched onto Stinky, as if they weren't in the middle of a crisis and weren't blocking the door.

"And I'm DREW-" This massive, hulking guy with a giant mallet swung into the back of a thing that reached for Lila from the ground, smacking it all the way down with a sickening crunch. Pieces of it flew into the guys beard, smattered his glasses. "AND THIS IS NOT THE TIME." He elbowed one that came from behind him, turning back around to swing his mallet again.

"Sheena-" an older guy I knew as Sheena's dad grabbed her shoulder, tugging her out of the building "let's go-" she started talking over him, about where they were going.

Stinky still did not know what to do about the Sid on his chest or the angry look Harold was giving them, and Harold finally said "fuck it, I won't find her in this bullshit anyway," and stomped out. Sid made to follow him, grabbing onto Stinky's shirt, tugging him with him. He spared Lila one last look, looking back over his shoulder as she argued with the guy with the giant mallet. He looked like a blacksmith from midevil times in a t-shirt and flannel.

"DREW, I'M TELLING YOU RIGHT NOW," Lila, for the first time Stinky had ever seen, had come pretty darn close to a yell- "I'M NOT LEAVING HERE WITHOUT MY FATHER."

* * *

MARCH 10TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

"I can't believe this." Becca's voice annoyingly floated to him, over the caucus in the dining hall. Thad was sitting on the floor, back to the wall. He tiredly rolled his neck out, it was getting late in the evening. "You're really all bent up about that little kid."

"He's our age, Bec." Thad ran a tired hand over his face. "And we grew up together."

"I…" Becca swallowed, realizing he wasn't in a mood to laugh with her. She put her own back on the wall, slid down to his level. "I deadass thought that kid was like 15."

"He's just short." He muttered. He scratched the back of his head, greasy hair, already. He wanted to take a shower so bad. "And dead now, probably." He, with annoyance, pushed himself to his feet. Likely going to find somewhere to sleep it off, or something. He was too tired to even think of what he was thinking, and that made no fucking sense.

"Well, maybe he got infected, but he's probably not dead-"

"I'd rather be dead than one of those things."

"Thad," Becca called him with a serious tone in her voice. He tossed his head back over his shoulder to give her his attention. "Don't say things like that."

"Becca," he spoke clearly too, firmly, and with intention. "If I either," He held up one finger, "am one of those things or" held up another finger, "know I will be one very shortly, you need to know now," he pointed at her, "I _will_ do everything in my power to kill myself."

"No you won't." She scoffed with disbelief, shaking her head.

He shrugged, "try and stop me," and he shoved his hands back in his pockets and turned back around, before slamming straight into someone else. "FOR FUCK'S SAKE-" he realized with his involuntary yelling that he was just, really, really, not in the mood.

"Uh, you could WATCH where YOU'RE GOIN-"

"Rhonda?" She looked, literally, fucking revolting. Smeared in dark substance, hair stuck to her face but ratted up in the back, clothes torn from friction tears? Her face was making this abhorrent expression, as if he were the one covered in bullshit.

"Thaddeus." She replied coolly, stepping back from him, staring him up and down.

"You-" he exhaled quickly with mirth, a laugh dancing behind his words. It was the first time he smiled in God knew how long "you look like hell."

She dropped her head to the side, giving him an annoyed, flat expression. She rolled her eyes, and then, just a little bit, ever so slightly, the corner of her mouth quirked up "I just got back." She drawled, finishing the quote perfectly, staring at him with just the smallest hint of mirth in her voice.

* * *

MARCH 10TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

Lila had no idea how the fire got set, how any of this started. She felt like it was one of those times, Drew would sometimes say sometimes when he was playing a video game he just fucked something up so badly he had to go back to his last save and try again. Except it wasn't a video game and there was just yelling, and smoke, and there was no last save but there were children crying and people knocking into her shoulder as they tried to run from the building.

"DAD!" She heard the shattering of one of the windows behind her, and people pushed in a new direction, towards it instead of the main doors. She pushed through them, in the opposite direction. "DAD, WHERE ARE YO-"

Another shatter drowned her out. Someone carrying their child, burnt badly, ran past her. Lila suddenly became aware of her long hair, worried it would catch fire. She collected it, tucking it into her shirt.

She spotted him, finally. At the back corner of the room. She screamed for him so loudly, so unintelligibly. She waved her hands frantically as the smoke thickened, as it became harder to see, and she ran forward to him. He was holding the door open with his foot, and she realized she had one child in his arms, the other dashed out of the door he held open. He smacked the door closed just in time, something was just a step behind that child. Her father grabbed the child roughly, by the arm, ignoring it's cry of pain, to move quicker, lifting it in a fashion more similar to a football player than a carry for a child, and ran towards Lila. She knew he'd want her to run towards the door, where everyone else was. She should have. But she had to see her Dad out of that building. She ran to him, screaming as she did so, over the sounds of the other screams, feeling like she might pass out from the smoke, from the screaming, from the headache.

Moments before she would reach her Dad, a hand reached out and grabbed his ankle. Lila would replay it over and over in her mind, how it happened. How she should have played the game differently. How she should have cleared the path for her Dad. How there was no save to go back to.

Her Dad just barely managed to twist his body around so his back hit the ground and not the kids, and the thing was on his ankles in a matter of seconds.

Lila screamed again, with the intention of screaming for her Dad to get up, but it ended up just coming out in terror. The kids sat in paralyzed terror by his arms.

"Lila," her dad managed to meet her eyes one last time "grab them and-" his words gave out into a terrible scream, and the ripping of his foot from his body.. The youngest child burst into tears, Lila's own fell down her face as she found herself frozen, unable to move.

She might have died there in that spot if a tiny hadn't reached for her skirt to pull himself up with, shaking his other hand as if he had jammed it when he fell. She looked down at the teary, terrified eyes of the boy, and she grabbed the screaming child, unsurely, heavier than she expected, and grabbed the hand of the boy, and they started to run towards the exit. Lila was much slower than her father, because she couldn't carry both boys, but the way was seemingly cleared now. She just hoped she made it before she passed out. She hadn't felt like she had taken a true breath in minutes, sucking in ash and smoke every time she opened her mouth. Her ankles ached, and her arms were barely strong enough to hold the toddler.

She heard a cracking, and she barely had time to look to her right before registering that a support beam was going to come crashing down. She kicked out her right foot, knocking the little boy back a few feet, losing her own balance and crashing backwards, right before the beam fell, creating a firey barrier between them and the door.

She sat up, cradling the crying child with her one arm, one hand on the back of his head. The western wall, the one on the side of the building with the windows, was the only wall left in the cafeteria not engulfed in flame, "CRAWL-" She attempted to cry out to the boy, but her mouth was so dry it barely came out a cough. As he pushed himself to his knees, she took her free elbow and gave him a quick, sharp jab between the shoulder blades and he fell back to the floor. She began to inch away from the fire demonstratively, but she knew it was hopeless. There was no exit where they were going, she went to school here. As he weakly crawled and she slid backed herself up with her feet, she knew she was just prolonging death that was waiting for her.

As her back hit the wall, and the fire climbed higher up the wall of the adjacent side, the boy curled into her side, as if he knew too. The only thing she could think of is that at least if she died she'd never have to think of this night again. She could barely breath, if at all, head falling back on the wall, face coated with sweat as if she had just gone swimming, so dizzy she was unable to tell if the child on her chest was crying or even breathing.

There was a crash on their right, and with it, several men burst through the wall, seemingly. It was a window. Lila had parked them right by a window, and the boys were taken from her grip. She reached for them, delusionally, defensively, but was barely able to lift her arms.

She opened her eyes to see this mangled arm, shards of broken glass in it, reaching for her. She recoiled, pressing herself backwards against the wall, in disgust. She looked upwards, just for a moment, to see Drew through the thick, black smoke, before blacking out completely.

* * *

MARCH 10TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Nadine was still shaking as she set tentative feet on solid ground. She was pretty sure she blacked out at some point on the roof, as they inched past, roof by roof, scared so shitless that she had already mentally blocked out the entire thing. Arnold holding the ladder one way, Helga inching it to the next roof, the entire thing rattling in the wind.

And now that they were finally on solid ground, staring at the highway Helga was so sure about, it was backed up. For cars, yes. But even people. There was at least an 8 car pile up, both directions, disembodied arms reaching out of cars, and several of the monsters trapped under them, tugging themselves out to no avail.

Helga stepped out from behind Nadine. She made a choked noise. She fell to one knee, then another, hands pressed into her face. Nadine watched her with some sort of detached apathy, as if she had left her body, straight up floated out of it a few hours ago and hadn't managed to reconnect yet. With her feet on the ground, or the feelings swirling in her chest.

But Helga, hunched over into her hands, chest shaking and not from the cold, looked like the night had well and truly kicked the crap out of her.

"Hey," Arnold said, obviously ignoring the fact that he had no idea how to help the sobbing girl on the pavement. "Hey, there's a ladder, there's a um, hey," she wasn't looking up any time soon, but Arnold kept trying. "We can go to the ground, and then, uh, we can, uh-" He looked at Nadine. "Do you, uh, see the ladder?"

She nodded her head slowly.

"We can, like, take that to the ground, and then just walk along the highway, I guess-"

She continued to nod as he spoke.

"So, cool, so-" he nodded to himself, composure clearly cracking right down the middle. He walked a few feet away, music still faintly playing in the distance behind him, sat down, and all but fell into the pavement as well, on to his side, curling up into himself.

And Nadine didn't know what to do but stand there and watch them.

* * *

MARCH 10TH, 2016

MAHOPAC, NEW YORK

Phoebe was sitting on the hood of a little red sedan as he pulled up to the empty rock gym they set up camp in. She had her hair pulled up, and her feet were kicking, a mega-watt grin on her face as she recognized his car. Her hands were shaking with relief and joy and she stood up, rocking on the balls of her feet. She had waited hours, all night for him, and yet the moments of waiting for him to get the hell out of his car were pure agony.

"Hey, baby-" He said as he shut his door, "so I guess I owe you some kinda' apology, because you were righ-"

She basically tackled him, backing him up against his car, wrapping her legs around him, anything that made him feel more real, more tangible. She squeezed so tightly she would worry about his breath, except he was massive and she was Phoebe. She squeezed him in a way that let him know that she did not CARE if she was right or not as long as he was THERE.

"Yes, hi-" He gripped her back, cradling the back of her head carefully. She dug her face into his neck, as if she could permanently meld herself there if she tried hard enough. "I love you, too." He told her quietly.

* * *

 _a/n everything suuuucks and this is the end of book oooone! woot_


	7. Chapter 7

**Featurette 1: Sonnet 90**

 _"Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now,  
_ _Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross;"_

* * *

APRIL 19TH, 2009

HILLWOOD HIGHSCHOOL, PENNSYLVANIA

It was Taco Tuesday, or Unidentifiable Mush in a Tortilla Tuesday, at their cafeteria. Gerald was enjoying it anyway, sitting in solitude with his girlfriend for a few moments. She was reading, he was working on math homework. He liked how they didn't constantly need to be talking to enjoy each other's company. He thought it showed a lot of maturity for sophomores in high school. Of course, the quiet wouldn't last long, normally until their best friends got there.

"Oh my god," Speak of the devil, Helga groaned, collapsing into the seat next to Phoebe and throwing her phone on the counter. "My mom is being such a goddamned _bitch_." Phoebe's hands tensed on the book in front of her. Gerald watched her carefully, how she picked up the book mark next to her immediately and gently marked her place, shutting the book.

Phoebe cleared her throat, "is she being" she met Gerald's eye for just a moment, sharing a thought in the split second their pupils synced "forgetful," translation: drunk as fuck, "again?"

"I'm exhausted," she was talking in a way that let Gerald know that she was really talking to Phoebe, but he was granted the almighty permission to listen in. Not to, God forbid, respond, but to listen. "Let's just say she forgot," she made a vomiting face, "all over the goddamned carpet last night."

Gerald couldn't help it, he pulled a face. Phoebe wrinkled her nose. Helga stared in between the two of them. "Yea," she noted their reactions, "exactly." She threw her head into her arms on the table, letting her blonde hair spill everywhere. "I just want one night where I get a full night's rest." Phoebe combed her finger through Helga's hair soothingly. She clearly didn't have a response, so she just hummed.

"Every day," Helga mumbled into the table, "it's something new." Gerald winced. She didn't have to say anything else. If the incidents were happening nightly now, it must have been bad.

He kept his eyes on the blonde hair pooling on the table as he felt the bench he was sitting on shift. Arnold was setting down his tray next to him, raising his hand for a brief handshake with his best friend.

"Hey guys-" Arnold stopped short while taking off his backpack, looking at Helga. "Whoa," the corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile, assuming it was just Helga being dramatic, "what happened to you?"

"Just the everyday agony of being alive, Football head." She said into the counter. Arnold dropped his backpack to the ground, giving Gerald a look that had eyeroll written all over it. Gerald had no idea what face to make in response. Phoebe was looking tensely in between their best friends, as if she knew something Gerald didn't.

"Whatever you say, Helga." Arnold replied as he sat down, turning to Gerald to discuss whatever episode of something he was watching last night. Gerald caught Phoebe's eye as Helga sat back up, and she communicated that, he could only assume, whatever conversation they were having was over.

Gerald never considered those moments significant in anyway during them. It was a Tuesday, he had a cup of shady looking sour cream, and his best friend was rambling about something or other. He had also never considered what his friends did a routine. Sure, they sat at the table the same way every day and had similar conversations. But it's not as if they discussed this all, like it was a plan. He learned that year that routines don't need to be planned to be real, they can be accidents. You'll only know once they're broken. Torn apart, more like.

"Who knows," Helga was saying into her hand. It was all the timing, really. Had things even been a split second off, if Gerald had spoken just a little bit sooner, it never would have happened. Helga just happened to say what was on her mind at just the right time, at just the moment Arnold would hear it. "Maybe if the bottle won't kill her off, the meetings will." She laughed into her palm, bangs falling into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Arnold interrupted Gerald, putting a hand up. It was a split second. Gerald thought about what his life might have looked like if he had spoken just a little bit faster. Paused a little bit more. "Who's going to die?"

"My mom," Helga rolled her eyes, "well, hopefully." She snorted into her hand.

Gerald didn't know what people meant by heart ripping open until that moment. He thought he did, when he didn't make the basketball team that one time, or when he got shot down by Tara Rodriguez. But, no. His chest tore like paper in that moment, when he watched a girl wish death upon her mother in front of a boy who just found out he was an orphan.

Arnold opened his mouth, and then shut it again.

Helga, blissfully unaware of all that Gerald knew, as he and his Grandparents were the only people that knew the bodies of Arnold's parents were found, passed away long ago, took a sip of chocolate milk, raising an eyebrow as Arnold opened his mouth, and then shut it again. "You okay, fish boy?" She smirked. Phoebe was watching Gerald. Gerald could only watch Arnold. It had only been three weeks. Three weeks since Grandpa had gotten that call.

"That is very disrespectful." His brow was set in a hard line. "You should never say things like that." His mouth was terse in the corner, and he could see the veins on Arnold's neck.

She scoffed, not at all picking up the gravity in his words, remaining firmly in space, "have you met my parents?"

The ignorance between the two, Helga and his parents, and Arnold and her parents, created this dense fog around them. Their headlights couldn't be seen to each other anymore, and Gerald and Phoebe had no lighthouse strong enough to break through.

Gerald tried anyway, "anyway, man, back to the gam-"

Arnold, apparently, did not give half a fuck about the game anymore. "You should consider yourself lucky," His hand was crushing the napkin in its grasp, it wouldn't be at all functional anymore. "Not everyone gets parents."

"You know what," Helga took the bait, that Arnold hadn't dangled as bait but a minnow is to a shark as a minnow is, even if it wears a different costume. "You're _right_ , Arnold." She all but growled, "not everyone does."

Gerald could have banged his head into the table. He knew exactly what she meant. Walking three miles to school because your Mother couldn't find her purse for bus money wasn't having parents. Cleaning up vomit every night instead of studying for a test was not having a guardian. Locking up cabinets to only find the hinges of the doors ripped out when you get home is _not_ having a mother. And that's what she meant.

But to Arnold, it read as a taunt. A tease. To him, she might as well have said "yea, you don't have parents, Arnold. Get over it."

She didn't know he was an orphan now.

She was trying to tell him she felt like one.

Arnold left everything on the table as he stood up, ripping his backpack out from the bench under him.

"Oh, Arnol-" Phoebe began to say. Gerald had never seen Arnold so furious. His hands shook as he looped the bag over one shoulder, mouth clenched together, hair falling in his eyes. Gerald looked to Helga, and noticed, with horror, that she was no longer sitting in her seat. Before he could even stand, the two of them were power walking out of the cafeteria, Helga hot on Arnold's tail.

"Oh no," Phoebe looked up to him, "Oh, no no no-" They scrambled out of their seats, following without even grabbing their stuff.

"WHAT THE FUCK," Gerald heard Helga yell from the lobby, where they were inevitably rushing through "IS YOUR PROBLEM, FOOTBALLHEAD?!"

They had just made it through the doors, Gerald had just enough time to turn around and swing them shut behind them.

"DON'T," Arnold spun on his heel quickly, furiously, "CALL ME THAT." He kept one hand firmly gripping his backpack, one jutted out to her, like a shield. "DON'T TALK TO ME, OKAY?!" He spit, fury turning his face pink. "I'M SICK OF YOU, AND YOUR RUDENESS, AND YOUR UNGRATEFUL ATTITUDE. SO JUST. DON'T TALK TO ME." He yelled, counting off points on his hands. Helga's hands were balling into fists. Gerald stepped forward, but Phoebe grabbed his arm. She looked back to her. She just shook her head. Arnold stepped back, surprised at the sound of his own yell, ready to turn back to continue down the hallway.

"If you think I'm ungrateful," Helga hissed, and Arnold stopped moving mid turn. Phoebe put her face in her hands. Gerald grabbed her shoulder, "you need a hard look in the mirror, Arnold." Somehow the lack of a nickname made it worse. He still didn't turn around. Helga's voice was rising, "and you know somethin'?! AT LEAST YOU HAVE-"

"WHAT, WHAT do I have that's SO AMAZING?" Arnold screamed back, voice falling over Helga's, turning around so quickly he almost fell over. In fact, he practically did. He stumbled, catching himself in time, throwing his arms out to steady himself, "ACH," he made an inhuman noise as he regained balance, and sanity, somewhere in there. He looked up, staring at Helga, "I am SO DONE with this," he told her, fury still seeping into his voice, and with that, instead of continuing down the hall like he had planned, he went straight out the glass doors, and down the street. The door clanged shut.

"YOU HAVE PEOPLE WHO LOVE YOU," She screamed at his shadow, following him to the door, but not through it. "YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKIN-" her backpack clanged against the glass door with a startling thump as she hurled it at nothing in particular.

And with that, Gerald had to watch Helga G. Pataki turn around, press her back to the glass door, sink to the floor, and sob. Messy, running nose, snorting tears, and liquid all over her long sleeves. Curled up into herself, like one of those bugs.

And his life would never be quite the same again.

* * *

 _"And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,_  
 _Compared with loss of thee will not seem so."_

* * *

AUGUST 18TH, 2015

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

It was disgustingly hot. Rhonda felt literally filthy, as her skin stuck to Harold's shirt as they stumbled into the kitchen together, out of the pounding music. She felt the laughter in his chest shake her shoulder. She tried to take another swig from her cup, realizing despairingly that it was, in fact, empty, as the last bit of rum landed on her tongue. Which is why they were entering the kitchen…right. Junior year of college had taken a little more out of her than she'd like to admit. As annoying as it was, being back in Hillwood for the summers always helped her chill the fuck out.

"Thank God," she told him as she untangled herself to throw her cup on the counter. Her ears cheered in the sweet release from the noisy hell down the hall." Who the fuck is choosing music right now?"

Harold grunted noncommittally as he dug through the bottles of liquor on the counter, "think it's a friend of Joe."

"I would be inclined to believe it was a monkey with an iPhone, but that's just me." Rhonda opened Sheena's fridge, not feeling at all bad considering she had bought half of the liquor on the counter and her family could live without 8 extra ounces of juice.

Harold snorted. Rhonda shot him a furtive little grin. "Can you hand me the peach rum?" She asked, swallowing as she examined juices.

"I would if there was some."

She furrowed her brows as glanced over, "there is. I brought it." She tugged on her crop top, it was itching her skin. Harold was scratching the top of his head. There was no rum in his hands. "Did you hide it?"

His expression was baffled, "why the fuck would I do that?"

She shrugged, wiping under her eye to check for running mascara, "I don't know everything about your life," her finger came up clean. She smiled at it, glancing in the microwave to check her complexion. Makeup was truly an art she wielded with mastery.

"Maybe Sheena hid it, because she knew you wanted." Harold hiccuped, cracking open a beer. He scratched the back of his neck. His blue Penn State shirt stretched out across his chest. "'S what Nancy does at her sorority parties."

Nancy, right. The girl Harold had somehow managed to trick into dating him. Rhonda was still astonished he accomplished it. She questioned whether it was basic witchcraft like a optical illusion kind of deal, or if he had gone full out blood magic on it. She poured herself a cup of juice, she used a glass, because red cups are for scoundrels and children. She returned the juice and shut the fridge, and then set her sights on the key for the pantry.

"How is she," Rhonda reached for the cabinet above the oven, where Sheena kept the pantry key. She had seen Sheena's boyfriend, and childhood friend of theirs, Stinky, stick it up there before the party began. Sheena almost always locked the pantry during parties. She didn't need drunk kids ravaging her Chex Mix.

"Good," Harold leaned back on the counter. "I actually think it's going well."

"Good." Rhonda hummed, putting a knee up on the counter to reach up higher. Damn Sheena and her fucking giraffe boyfriend.

"How's Ethan?"

"Uh," her face warmed even thinking of his name. "Really good." She clicked her tongue, shifting her weight to her hip as she reached up. Tall, handsome, a future financial analyst. Rhonda had set herself up absolutely beautifully, really.

"You guys still, like, practically engaged?"

"I'd like to be literally engaged." She looked at him over her shoulder. "Or, at least, by graduation." She was terrified of falling of the counter, the last place she wanted to be was the Hillwood ICU. Harold grunted an affirmation, sipping his beer. He had actually already told her his thoughts on that, but that wasn't a fight either of them were looking to have again. She turned her attention back to the key. Harold came over to her, she heard his footsteps behind her. She watched him reach over her shoulder for the key, all gallantly, which was sort of rich because 1. It was Harold, and 2. He was a solid 2 inches taller than her, but okay.

He grabbed the key with one hand, and with the other, grabbed around her ribcage, and picked her up. She rolled her eyes as he set her on the ground. She held out her hand for the key, and he dropped it in her palm with a grin.

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, "I almost had it."

He picked up his beer from the counter, "sure you did."

She rolled her eyes again as she made her way to the pantry. "So, tell me: spring or summer wedding?"

"What have I ever said to you that would make you think I even remotely care about that." He said behind her, following her to the pantry, as she fiddled with the key.

"I mean, I suppose it all depends on my intended color palette," She shrugged, completely ignoring him. "And how many bridesmaids I want to ha-" she swung the door open, and she didn't finish her sentence, because her mouth was hanging open.

Pushed up against the wall, in the dim light of the pantry, was Sid, and more importantly: Stinky, who was doing the pushing. And the kissing.

He had one massive hand on Sid's smaller jaw, finger tips just barely falling into his hair. The other hand unseen, completely blocked by his body. Their kiss was slow, lazy, languid, Stinky's lanky ass body covering most of Sid.

"Oh my GOD," She said outloud, mouth falling open and running dry, and it was a complete accident, just a shocked reaction.

Sid jumped so violently he banged his head into the shelving unit behind him.

"OW," He jumped down, hands coming to cover his head, "FUCK." Stinky, with concern, lunged for him, and then looked beyond Rhonda, and backed up.

She glanced behind herself, seeing Harold with this odd mixed expression of shock and disgust, and hurt? Almost. He looked back and forth between the two boys, squinting, and it was evident he saw as much as Rhonda did. "What the fuck," his face crumpled up, wrinkling his nose, "was THAT?!"

"Are you okay, Si-" Stinky grabbed for Sid's shoulder, but he batted his hands off of him, looking like a hilariously ruffled bird as he righted himself, and began to charge out of the pantry.

"He," Sid pushed her shoulder, ow, little cretin better not have had anything of any sort on his hands, Rhonda didn't wear body glitter for him to just _ruin_ it. He sped walked past them, back into the kitchen. "HE" he repeated his word with much more accusation, he might as well have flung a finger in the direction of the bewildered, and mussed up Stinky, standing in the pantry, "kissed me."

"He did?" Rhonda looked back at him with a curious look. She tried, her very hardest, to not look at all amused. Or, in the very least, very minimally amused.

"It was a dare!" Stinky defended, shoving his hands in his pockets, following Harold out of the pantry.

"Twice." Sid flipped around, replying coldly. Stinky? Meet bus, that your best friend has just thrown you so far under you undoubtedly have roadburn, Rhonda thought. She hopped up on the counter, feeling awkward and somehow still knowing she wouldn't leave that room if her life depended on it. She winced at whatever foreign substance was under her hand. She turned towards a distinct crackle by her shoulder. Harold was downing his beer. She wiped her hand off on his shirt. He didn't seem to notice.

"You know what?" Stinky was not experiencing whatever gay panic Sid was, or at least not outwardly. He was also swaying in place. Sid was sweating enough for two people. Rhonda had no idea how much they had to drink, but she imagined it was somewhere between a pitcher and a bathtub. Stinky leaned back on the counter across from Rhonda, shrugging as he did so. "I did." He crossed his arms.

"What kind of fucking-," Harold grunted over the beer, the can so tight in his hand Rhonda was somewhat concerned the whole thing would crack open. He pressed his thumb in between his eyes, squinting at the floor, "who the fuck dares someone to kiss their best friend in a closet?"

"Pantry," Rhonda corrected.

"What the fuck is a pantry," Harold stared at her. She opened her mouth, looking at the sweat beading up in his 6 o'clock shadow, and then decided it just wasn't worth it. She picked up her cup of cranberry whatever, and shook her head. She wrinkled her nose, there was still no alcohol in her cup.

"That wasn't the," Stinky stood up to his full height, and somehow still looked hunched over "we were playin' a dumb game," he scratched the back of his head, "and someone dared me to kiss-" he put his hand on Sid's arm in lieu of saying his name, as if that made the entire thing any less gay. "And it," his hand moved forward, enormous thing rubbing over his face, "it put the idea in my head, and then I did it again."

Sid had his hands balled up by his sides, his gaze on the floor.

"You," Harold shook his head, "WHY?" He yelled finally, some of his beer splashed on the floor as he gesticulated wildly, "you have a goddamned _girlfriend_?!"

"She was there." Stinky replied defensively, as if anyone in the room even mildly entertained the thought this was all some kind of joke everyone was in on.  
"The first time," Sid amended quietly.

"Then, I mean. It was just." Stinky looked in between Harold and Sid. Rhonda felt mildly offended at her exclusion. Her hands were sweating. She wiped them, wincing, on her skirt. She looked to Harold, who did not look at her. Stinky all but quit them, turning just to face Sid. His gaze was unfocused, and he was barely standing in one spot. He, swallowed, probably literally swallowing his pride, and said "FINE, Sid." His new found bravery overcame him. Literally. He kind of tripped over his own feet as he stumbled forward, catching himself on Sid's forearms. "I did it because I wanted to." He stared him down, their height difference becoming starkly apparent. Sid looked like he was shaking, just a little bit.

"So, what?!" Sid demanded, finally wiping the spit off his mouth. Stinky's hand stayed on his arm as he did so, in fact, even gripping it tighter. Rhonda was enraptured in the look on Sid's face. Had someone told her this would happen, she would have expected some sort of marbled mix of disgust and anger. A twitched up nose, narrowed eyes. "Are you like, like..do you want me to, like. What I'm saying, is. LOOK: are you-" this might be the most pathetic display of the English language Rhonda had ever seen. She almost thought Sid deserved his talking privileges revoked. "Like, in love with me? Are, are we-" The look on his face was more of disbelief, vulnerability, and loss. "Do you want us to be a thing?!" Only then did it dawn on Rhonda: Sid was _terrified_. He might lose his best friend that night.

"I mean," Stinky blinked, not entirely resembling a deer in headlights. Maybe a more gangly animal. A giraffe, perhaps. It occurred to Rhonda that this was probably one of the worst places in the world to be having this conversation. "I don't know, Sid." He had spoken honestly. He should have known people their age don't do that. Rhonda felt the sinking feeling of pity in her chest. She looked away, at the frankly atrocious tile that Sheena's family had somehow deemed _acceptable_.

"Well," Sid replied hastily, suddenly deciding to scramble out of his grip, "It can't happen."

"I- okay." Stinky began to reply, but Harold spoke over them.

"OBVIOUSLY, Sid," Harold downed the rest of his beer, crushing the can in his hand, "that's fucking disgusting." He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, stomping out to the glass door in the back of Sheena's house. The black and white tiles looked filthy, people running in and out of the house. Rhonda forgot that, beyond that kitchen, there was still a party happening. She tapped her nails on the counter, crossing her feet in front of her. Harold threw the door open, stomping outside.

"What's disgusting?" Sheena appeared in the doorway, hair pulled out of her face into a voluminous ponytail. "Oh," a relaxed smile pulled unto her face as she spied her boyfriend, was standing still close to Sid, hunched over. "There you are, where have you been?"

"Nowhere," Stinky said at the same time Sid said

"Nothing." Answering Sheena's other question, of course.

"Oh, okay?" Sheena looked amused, staring around at the three of them. She had these freckles running across her nose, and no makeup on and this lovely smile and Rhonda's heart hurt for her, a little bit. She looked at Stinky. He looked at the floor. "Where are your glasses?" She said to him, tapping by his temple.

"Oh, I think I left them upstairs, in your room." Stinky in his life, probably had never said anything with the intention of sounding overtly sexual. But it sounded like an invitation if Rhonda had ever heard one. "Do you want to," he had a hand on her waist and Rhonda felt just a little bit sick, "come up with me?"

"Uh," Sheena glanced over her shoulder even though there was nothing to look at, the party was really happening down the hall. She glanced at Rhonda.

"I'll make sure no one dies," she was surprised at how soft her voice was. She sipped her cup to avoid saying anything else. Sheena shrugged.

"Okay, then." And then, he did it, he kissed her, and Rhonda couldn't look at it. She dropped her gaze to the floor. "See you guys-" she just held her hand up in a wave as they exited. She looked at Sid, who had this unreadably apathetic look on his face. Their eyes met then, as he finally looked away from the doorway even though the couple was long gone.

He still looked vulnerable, like she could pick him up and eat him alive and no one would be the wiser. When he opened his mouth to speak, his voice cracked. "Please don't tell anyone." And suddenly, she was ready to storm Sheena's room and straight up strangle her boyfriend.

"It's not me you have to worry about," she told Sid honestly, staring out the glass door she watched Harold storm through. He followed her gaze and nodded, picked up an entire bottle of jack, and went outside.

She clicked her tongue, swung her feet, and downed the rest of the juice. She was done with the alcohol, for the night, anyway. She stretched high, feeling the satisfying crack of her shoulders, and before she even knew what she was doing, she had her phone out, and she was sending a text. "You have to tell her." She sent it quickly, and began typing her next text before waiting for a response. It came anyway, before she was done. "I know."

She sent her next text anyway, "or I will."

* * *

 _A/N between each book there will be featurettes with backstory yaaaay. i honestly have thought so Long and Hard about how i want ot do this. then i was like ehhh screw it im going to write it exactly the way i planned to. which involves many same sex couples and confusion and Other Stuff so pls if its not your thing or youre not open minded about it, im gonna respectfully ask you bow out now. i swear to you, you will not enjoy the rest of it. buuuut if you're here for it, and you've read this far, thank you! im genuinely really excited about this and ur support means so so so much to me thank you all and pls leave feedback i print it out and eat it when the harvest is low_


	8. Chapter 8

**Book Two: Macbeth**

 **Chapter One:**

 _"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,_

 _That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,_

 _and then is heard no more; It is a tale_

 _told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,_

 _signifying nothing."_

MARCH 10TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

"Alright," they burst into a dorm room together. It was more dreary than normal. It was clearly occupied by someone who wasn't Thad before the whole breakdown happened. "Home sweet dorm," Thad told her solemnly, shucking off his shoes by the door. The walls were covered with sports paraphernalia. Rhonda cringed when she reached up to run her fingers through her hair. They couldn't even begin to pass through it.

"I found the key on the floor," Rhonda jumped when she heard the voice, and flipped around. The room was clearly for upper classmen but not seniors. It was a big triple, but two of the beds were shoved together in one corner. In the other corner there was a single, and there was a girl sitting on top of it. She had mousy brown hair and she looked delightedly clean.

"She wandered around for three hours figuring out which room in unlocked." Thad explained further, collapsing on the double bed.

"Euch!" The girl protested, throwing her book at him, "Clean yourself first, cretin!"

"Chill, Bec," he caught it with quick reflexes. He glanced down at it. "Poe, nice," he politely set it next to himself. "I figured I'd give Princess over here first dibs." He sat up, grinning at her. He pushed his glasses up to his head, rubbed at his eyes. He swallowed thickly. Rhonda hadn't taken a good look at him in a few years. Thick, dark hair, pushed back with a deep cowlick, clean jawline and hazel eyes. Big hands, splattered with something, the same thing that was covering his shirt, which he had pushed up to his elbows. "That is," she looked up, and it seemed he had caught her staring, "unless you wanted to _share-_ "

"Fuck off," Rhonda stomped towards what she could only assume was the suite's promised private bathroom, " _Curly_." She practically spit, knowing how he hated the childish nickname, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

MARCH 10TH, 2016

UNDER ROUTE 76, PENNSYLVANIA

Nadine could practically make a rhythm between the crunching of gravel under her feet and the ringing in her ears. They had been walking for hours now, as far as she could tell, and she could still feeling the burning in her throat from vomit hours ago.

It felt like, on top of those buildings, wind whipping her hair into her eyes and sounds of screaming below them, she was working with people who were already dead. Helga looked like she had blacked out sometime into it, having by far the worst job of them all, as she laid on the ladder and inched it across the open air between buildings as Arnold held it steady. His movements were crisp, robotic and steady for the entire duration of it. He was a man on autopilot. Helga was barely even there.

Nadine, however, was all too awake. Her hands made the metal clatter as she shook, her knuckles turning white in the wind, her nose burning in the cold. It was difficult to breathe, and yet she felt herself breathing all too much.

The second her feet were on solid ground, she vomited. She vomited everywhere.

That was hours ago and it was burned into her mind, replaying on a continuous loop as they walked under the highway, quietly. For as minimal detection as possible.

But even in the quiet hum of the night, Helga dutifully leading them back to Hillwood, Nadine felt her skin prick, covered in invisible spiders, and she knew she would never be the person she was twenty four hours ago again.

* * *

MARCH 10TH, 2016

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

It was nearly four in the morning. Thad thought he was somewhere beyond exhausted. He was reaching the next plain of exhaustion where everything was misty and mildly hilarious. He found himself back in the main hall with Rhonda. She looked somewhat like a wet rat, hair sopping and sticking to her face, but miraculously clean. She looked like she was dragged through a forest on the back of Santa's sleigh two hours ago, so it was a small miracle.

Most everyone up in the hall was trying to contact someone, the crowd had seriously thinned out since they disappeared to the dorm. The general consensus was to hold up and wait for military intervention. Or some hero amongst them to rise from the ashes.

It sure as hell wasn't going to be Thad.

It also probably wasn't going to be any of the idiots who dragged Eugene off hours ago and hadn't returned. Thad wasn't in the hall waiting for him, that'd be fucking ridiculous. He and the guy had barely had a solid conversation since high school. So he definitely wasn't concerned about him. It was his own damn fault for going with.

He had no idea why Rhonda was still up but she looked ready to pass out at any given moment. She stook next to him looking like a drowned yet very determined pigeon and scanned the room. She was looking for something. Thad didn't know what. He could have asked, but then again, he didn't particularly care.

There was milling tension in the room creeping into Thad's skin. It was quiet for the most part, dangerously so. The sort of quiet that demanded a distraction. Thad eyed the keyboard in the hallway and thought about being the distraction, himself. He thought somebody must have shucked it out to make space in a room.

Thad was bored. This was boring.

He was thinking about how much he hated silence when a truck drove through the glass doors, narrowly missing people as people held the doors open.

The truck parked in the middle of the entrance to the dorm. Even as the truck engine was turned off and the doors were slammed and locked shut tight, chaos emerged. People who were waiting for people stood up, running to the truck. There was incoherent shouting and someone yelling for everyone to "move, just move, get the fuck out of the way."

It was just the mid-game entertainment he was looking for.

Guys who looked like they were in a similar state to what Rhonda was in about two hours ago practically spilled out of the truck. They ran to the back, and one of them did a fireman's lift on a man from the bed of the truck. He was screaming. He was missing an arm.

That would do it, yeah. Reasonable reason to scream.

And then Thad saw a familiar face climb out of the passenger seat of the truck. He shut the door behind him, planting his hands on his knees. Thad crossed the floor to Eugene, doing what he was sure looked like a very casual, nonchalant jog.

Eugene vomited violently where he stood.

Thad grimaced but approached anyway. Eugene's puke splashed on to the tile floors, onto his own shoes. He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, the one covered in bandages and grime. Before Thad could say anything, Eugene was standing back up to his full height. He swayed unnaturally back and forth, looking like he was about to-

Oh, and he did. He slipped forward. Luckily there was something there to catch his fall. Namely, the sideview mirror. His face smashed into it, knocking his head, which started bleeding. And by bleeding, it was as if there were a fucking geyser of blood waiting to be tapped into on Eugene's forehead. He rebounded, his body lurching backwards.

Thad jumped forward, and caught Eugene moments before he would have passed out onto the floor.

Eugene had long scratches on his jaw and his face was covered in ash and smeared with dirt on the temples. That hardly mattered, because blood was pouring out from his skull everywhere, onto his shirt which was probably a nice peach color yesterday and now was the color of what Thad imagined it looked like if you chose to murder someone in a forest after a particularly rainy day, all mud everywhere.

Eugene flailed at being caught, and some of his blood splattered up onto Thad's glasses.

Thad sighed, " _Jesus Christ, kid_."

"I-" Eugene started to explain, but there was such a shrill scream from behind them that Thad almost dropped Eugene.

Thad was ready to book it out of there, carry Eugene if he had to, because he thought for a moment there were some of those things in there. The fucking...dementors, whatever they were. And then he whipped his head to look, and he was wrong. The true terror being inflicted upon the patrons of that room was beyond that. It was the wrath of Rhonda Wellington Lloyd.

"ETHAN," she screeched. Thad momentarily had a Matrix moment and thought to himself that none of this was real and he was a dog because only dogs could hear sounds that high. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I WENT LOOKING FOR YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CITY BY MYSELF AND YOU WEREN'T-" Thad looked up at who could only be Ethan. He was a relatively tall guy, Thad's height, probably, with a mop of mousy brown hair and a ghost-white face as he saw Rhonda.

"Ethan?" Eugene's eyelids were half-lidded. He legitimately looked moments away from passing out. "He was on the truck with us-" he told Thad weakly. "He almost died."  
"He's about to wish he had," Thad snorted. He still had both arms supporting Eugene. "Uh," he squinted, "can you, like-" he wiggled his arms to indicate that Eugene should be doing the standing by then. Rhonda continued her, very impressive, impression of a banshee in the background.

"Yeah- yeah!" Eugene did some odd step-dance with his feet in an attempt to regain his balance. Like a very sad little leprechaun. He stood up, and Thad removed his hands from support, but left them hovering where they were. "See? I'm totally fin-"  
And he crashed backwards into Thad's arms again.

Thad huffed, but grabbed Eugene's arms with one hand and looped them over his neck. "Hold on," he told him gruffly, and then swiftly picked him up bridal style. He was sure Eugene would have protested loudly any other time, but he was half a moment away from unconsciousness. There was little he could protest at the moment. "If you vomit on me, you're a dead man, Horowitz."

* * *

MARCH 10TH, 2016

HILLWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA

When Stinky blearily blinked at his surroundings, the sun was shining brightly into the room. It must have been late into the hours of the day. The bed was messy by his side but they were missing. Or, Sid was.

He drew his knees to his chest, mind fumbling over the events of the last twelve hours. It had passed in blazes, all flashing lights and screaming and pounding hearts. Sitting in the back of Sheena's dad truck, tumbling back into her house. Sheena immediately offered her own room to Lila and her boyfriend who Stinky was blanking on the name of. Stinky was so exhausted by then he was barely awake, but he watched with amazement as Sheena's dad left the house, returning to the school to bus more people away from the fire in his truck. Sheena had stood up, announced she'd sleep in his room for the time being. Somewhat awkwardly declaring that it had a large bed.

Sid's hand had come up, grabbed Stinky's leg.

Harold sighed then, and said he'd split with Sheena. There was no protest and the two marched off. Stinky pretended not to notice the reassuring hand Harold put on Sheena's shoulder as they rounded the corner.

Stinky had sat up, awake, for hours after Sid had passed out. They were sharing a double in the guest bedroom/her dad's office. The smallest bed of the group. It was almost impossible for them not to be touching. It was impossible for Stinky to not be thinking about it.

Sid had rolled over, his hair was falling on Stinky's arm, his forehead mere centimeters from resting on it. He let his hands hang out in the open air between them. Stinky couldn't shake the feeling that he wanted to be touched. To be held, or something. Something had to have happened to him in the last few hours, because the last time he had been like this…

Well, it was a long time ago.

Stinky settled for running his fingers through the dark hair, detangling the curls from the matts they had started to twist into. Sid sniffled, shifting closer, and Stinky got the distinct impression Sid was not at all asleep yet.

Stinky, with a defeated sigh, held his arms open. Sid, still playing at his being asleep game, hesitated for a second before rolling into them. Sid's face pressed into his chest, and Stinky let his fingers return to his hair. Wanting to ask what happened, wanting to ask why he hadn't responded to any form of communication for months, wanting to ask questions until his face was blue, until his voice was hoarse.

He let Sid sleep, and he stared at the ceiling until there prologue of dawn's light was seeping in through the curtains.

He only stopped thinking about it when Sid appeared in the doorway. His hair was clean and dry. It was long, soft black curls hanging over his forehead and just past his ears. He was wearing what appeared to be one of Sheena's dad's sweatshirts, and Sheena's sweatpants that hung way past his feet. Stinky's heart hung heavy when he recognized it. He had a cup of something in his hands, a mug that was graying and chipped.

"Hey," Sid breathed softly. "You're up."

"Hi." Stinky replied, drawing the sheets into himself self consciously.

A foot behind Sid was Sheena. His heart was playing ping pong in his chest as he looked at her. Her skin was clean, rubbed pink, it seemed, and her hair was making wet spots in her orange t-shirt.

She was clearly deciding whether or not she wanted to be seen when she was, and she coughed quietly to herself, cheeks reddening again. The last time Stinky had seen her, before the night from hell the night before, was when they broke up in August. She had cried, it was awful. "I, uh," Sid shuffled over so they could stand side by side, and it was somehow more awkward "I thought you might want-" she was holding a sweatshirt and pants set in her hand.

"Oh, thank you, but I-" he couldn't handle being in her dad's clothes at the moment.

"But they're yours." She let the shirt hang open so he could set the Penn State logo. They were his. He had left them there at the beginning of the last summer. His mouth dried out and he opened it and shut it again.

"Thanks, Sheena," Sid took them from her and somehow it seemed like the worst possible scenario was playing out right in front of his face.

"We'll be in the living room." She told Sid quietly, and then, to Stinky's horror, she stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her.

Sid's face was reddening then, and he dropped the clothes on the bed, pushing a nervous hand through his hair, his hand shaking a little too much as he held out the cup to Stinky.

"Lila still isn't awake. Or doesn't want to be. I'm not sure." He glanced nervously to the door behind him. Stinky sipped quietly on the cup in front of him. It was hot chocolate, exactly like he had when they were younger. A little extra cream. His mind quickly wondered who made it, Sid or Sheena. "Her boyfriend Drew is worried," Sid sat on the edge of the bed. "I guess I am." Sid rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. "I don't know." He was rambling. Stinky took another sip before standing up and stretching. He shucked off his jeans, and gently tugged on the clothes Sheena had brought him. Sid stayed sitting, staring at the door.

"Do you want to go out there?" Stinky asked, as the sweatshirt just cleared his head. He rounded the bed, standing in front of Sid. "Let me just fix my-" he reached for his hair. Sid grabbed his other arm.

"I, uh." He looked confused, like he didn't know what to do with the arm now that he had it. "Not particularly." When Stinky reached for the hand on his arm, Sid dropped it. "I don't even know what we would say. To anyone, I guess. I only want to talk to-" Lila, Stinky finished in his mind.

"She's." Stinky, for a lack of knowing what to do, paced back and forth in front of the bed. "She's been through a lot, Sid. I don't know when she'll want to talk." Stinky would love to know where his parents were, himself. But that was another day's problem. He had a feeling they went to his uncle's farm in the country. He couldn't blame them.

"Yeah, but I-" Sid's voice cracked. Stinky's head snapped up, and he squinted at Sid. Sid looked like he was floundering in front of him. He sniffed loudly, raking a sweatshirt-covered hand across his face. Stinky sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn't know what to do. He waited for Sid to finish the thought but it never came. Sid stayed turned away from him, but fell on to his side. He wasn't crying audibly, but Stinky couldn't see his face.

Sid grabbed the pillow from above his head and drew it close to himself. He curled into it. Stinky sat fully on the bed. He sat criss-cross, and stared at Sid's back. He wanted to ask questions. He wanted to reach out and hold his friend. Stinky had no idea what happened to him since the the whole mess started, but it had to have been something. But even sitting in the room together, even after months of not speaking, he had never felt more distant. He felt so uncomfortable, because he didn't know where he and Sid stood on anything.

Sid let out a shivered breath and whispered so quietly "what are we gonna do?" that Stinky almost missed it.

And he didn't know.

He had no freaking idea.

He didn't know there was a _we_ anything, that _we_ was a thing they were gonna be. He didn't know if Sid thought that either. There were no boundaries set up for him there, no game rules for him to act within. How was he supposed to know what we was gonna do when he didn't even know who _we_ was supposed to be.

"I don't know, Sid." He breathed in response when it was too late.

Sid just curled tighter into the pillow.


End file.
